Blades
by DarkLightShades
Summary: People say you should always trust in yourself to do small and great things. Those people never met their own reflection in the flesh. And god, does he bite.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** I've been threatening this fic for about two years now, I think. The idea is an old one, but I haven't had the inspiration to finally get it out until now. For those of you who remember, way back, 'Blades' was the name given to our favourite Tiger Shark in the original pilot episodes, but for whatever reason, this was later changed to 'Streex'. Yes, it is vaguely relevent. :3

**Blades: Prologue**

* * *

"This is stupid." 

The hissing speech was almost lost in the vast silence of the decimated laboratory. Impatiently, the speaker dug through yet another pile of rubble but discovered nothing more than a ruined workstation and a few chunks of concrete. His extensive search had turned up nothing and, he strongly suspected, was proving itself to be a complete waste of time.

The consequences of returning with nothing, however, were terrible enough to keep him going long after he would have preferred to give up.

Slash scowled at the lab, as if daring it to give up its secrets. He wasn't even entirely sure of what he was looking for. All he knew was that what Paradigm wanted, he got, regardless of how long it took or how impossible the task seemed.

_Or how stupid the request_, Slash sardonically thought to himself. This was one of the most demeaning things he'd been forced into for quite a while. However, with the recent addition of Killimari to Paradigm's forces, he had been unceremoniously demoted from first to second in the rather informal hierarchy. Naturally he wasn't pleased, but good sense told him not to press his luck with the squid. He may have been smarter, but Killimari had the advantage of ranged combat, not to mention the nasty poison he could load into his darts.

No, he would have to defer to Killimari; at least until the squid made some vital mistake that put him out of Paradigm's favor.

In the mean time, he resigned himself to the dull task of searching through the old Fission City power station. The abandoned building had once housed Paradigm's primary laboratory. The scientist had spent all of the previous day brooding about his next big plan – the one that would surely defeat the shark brothers and their allies once and for all – and he must have come up with something because when he emerged from his private room he immediately sent Slash on this seemingly fruitless search.

In theory, he was supposed to be looking for a small, silver case that the doctor had stored here while the lab was still in use. Unfortunately, the place had been destroyed during one of the frequent battles with the Bolton brothers, and there was hardly anything left intact. Everything was ruined; walls leaned on each other for support, the ceiling was full of holes and it looked like something had exploded in the room on at least one occasion. In all likelihood, the case had been destroyed, and his hopes of regaining his status as Paradigm's most trusted Seaviant along with it.

He vented some of his pent up frustration on another pile of rubble, throwing aside thick sheets of metal and support beams as if they were made of cardboard. He was so focused on his anger he didn't notice the case until it had been similarly picked up and hurled across the room with savage force.

It hit the wall with a crash and, more alarmingly, the distinctive sound of breaking glass. Slash stared at it, stunned that he'd finally found it after hours of searching. The look quickly melted into guilt as he realized that whatever had been in there was now almost certainly ruined. Gingerly, he crept over to it and picked it up, wincing as another tinkle of glass reached his ears.

Glancing furtively left and right, as though worried about being seen, he quickly made his exit from the ruined lab. The Doctor didn't need to know about this small mishap. Better to say that the case was damaged when he found it. Yes, that would work…

He just hoped that whatever had been in it was still salvageable; otherwise his plans of returning to Paradigm's favor were null and void.

* * *

Dr. Luther Paradigm was pleasantly surprised when Slash did in fact deliver the case. He'd known from the beginning that the possibility of it still being intact was slim, not that he'd let the Seavient know it. Surely enough, his efforts had been rewarded and the familiar case was now back in his hands, and in the cool silence of his private laboratory he could feel the pleasant anticipation of a new experiment forming.

Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, he carefully opened the case and scanned its contents. Inside were four indentations, each designed to hold a small vial of liquid. Unfortunately, three of them were broken; casualties of the rough treatment the case had been though. Paradigm wasn't sure whether to be disappointed at their loss, or relieved that one had still survived. Being extra cautious, wary of breaking the last vial, he lifted it out and checked it over critically, searching for cracks in the glass that would have contaminated the sample.

It appeared to be completely in one piece. The dark red liquid inside sloshed gently against its glass container as the doctor gently twirled it between his fingers. An unholy light began to gleam in his single eye as the delicious possibilities of the container began to form in his mind. He began work immediately, storing the precious vial in a safe location and setting up computer-simulated tests of what he was about to attempt.

To be honest, the plan involved an entirely different spectrum of genetics than what he was used to. His specialty was the combination of different DNA structures. At the most basic level it was about turning something old into something new. This was nothing like that, although it was equally illegal in the eyes of the law. _Perhaps even more so,_ he mused. It had been a while since he'd checked.

Still, he was confident he could master it…probably even improve on what modern science was already capable of. The thought made him smile, though it was tinged with bitterness. He was making some of the most important discoveries in the field of genetics, but he would never be recognized for them while they were deemed 'unethical' by the community.

_That's one of the first things I'll change_, he thought to himself. The city needed strong leadership, someone to lead it into the new age of genetic improvement over the inherent weaknesses in human DNA. _He_ would be that person, as soon as the small annoyances known as the Street Sharks were out of his way. Looking over the computers' results, it looked like that day might not be so far off. The scans it had taken were promising; soon he could start collecting the rest of the data he needed.

The Sharks too had their weaknesses. The unfortunate problem was that these weaknesses were hard to exploit when they all worked together. The bond of blood was strong between them and so far his efforts to divide them had always failed. His latest idea would easily prevent that problem; forcing them to separate not only physically, but mentally.

But there was always a solution open to the innovative mind. Trusts could be broken with a proper deception, and for someone who'd convinced an entire city of his innocence to unimaginable crimes breaking up four brothers would be child's play. He smirked with satisfaction, and once again immersed himself in the intricate processing of data that promised the success he was waiting for.


	2. Part 1

**Blades: Part 1**

* * *

Bends had long since become immune to distractions. Even before he'd joined the effort against Paradigm, he'd developed the collage students' resistance to interruptions, whether it be crowds of people moving around him, deafening music that could be heard three blocks away or just Clint's snoring when the moocher had crashed at his place on a regular basis. That fact that he now spent his evenings devising up ways to expose an evil genius just meant that he could also keep his concentration while being shot at with lasers, while his friends were in danger, and when said friends returned from a battle and gracelessly flopped over the furniture in his basement.

It was actually a couple of minutes before he even registered their presence, and when he did he graced them with a wide grin, "Had an interesting night guys?"

His smile didn't decrease as he suddenly found himself the target of four dirty glares. Well, three really. Slammu wasn't capable of giving _anyone_ a dirty glare. Instead, the youngest brother's expression rested somewhere between indignant and bone-weary. "You're kidding, right?"

"I swear, this fighting really takes it out of you," complained Jab who, after a brief tussle with Streex, had claimed the couch for himself. "It's like he's not even trying for a clean win. He's just wearing us down."

"Maybe that's the point," Ripster mused, having already considered the possibility. "All he's been doing lately is small stuff. Things that he knows are going to draw us out. He hasn't planned anything serious in weeks."

"Maybe he's giving up?" Slammu suggested hopefully, but they all knew the possibility was a faint one at best. A serious silence descended, and Bends quickly tried to think of a way to dispel it. One of the most important factors of a war, Lena had told him, was the moral of the soldiers. Thus he'd appointed himself to the task of keeping the mood light and cheerful.

"But Paradigm's gotta be wasting resources too, right?" he queried. "I mean, every time you send him packing, it's not like it doesn't matter."

Ripster easily picked up on the change in tone and gratefully accepted the shift in conversation. "That's true. And it's not like some of us couldn't use the exercise anyway." He shot a sly look at Jab and waited for the hammerhead to react.

It took a few seconds longer than it normally would have, given the fact that Jab was already half asleep and seriously considering staying on the couch instead of committing himself to the short walk to the bedroom. Eventually he did notice his brother's look, and his mind slowly rewound the conversation. He sat up indignantly, all thought of sleep forgotten. "Excuse me? Just what is that supposed to mean?"

Slammu hid a smile, and Ripster innocently looked off to one side, refraining from comment. Baiting Jab was a sure-fire way of dispelling any depression, and it was a skill both he and Streex had long since mastered. Speaking of the devil…

Jab stood, pointedly flexing one heavily muscled arm. "I'll have you know this kind of toning doesn't come easily."

Bends snorted, "That's right. One tiny needle prick from an insane genius isn't easy at all." His tone was bright enough that the comment didn't have the usual effect of relighting Jab's anger.

"It was already there!" Jab insisted, but was sidetracked from his argument from his oldest brother's concerned look. "What's up?"

Sighing heavily, Ripster leaned back into his chair. "I don't suppose anyone knows where Streex went?"

He received nothing but confused looks and the others immediately looked around for the missing Tiger Shark. Sometime during the conversation he'd slipped quietly away, probably out on another of his solo explorations.

"I don't believe him," Jab growled, settling back on the couch with his arms crossed angrily. "Doesn't he remember what happened the last time he went out on his own?"

"Do you think we should go look for him?" Slammu queried, his concern contrasting with Jab's disgust.

Ripster looked at each of his brothers, then at Bends, then at the clock. To be honest, it was too late and he was too tired to be dragging his reluctant brother back home. Having fought with Paradigm only a few hours earlier, Streex probably wouldn't run into any more trouble than what he made for himself.

"He'll come home when he wants to," he said by way of an explanation. Bringing Streex back would only mean they'd have to listen to him bitching about how he had earned his independence thank-you-very-much.

Not that Ripster doubted it. If anything, all the Bolton children had mastered the art of taking care of themselves and taking care of each other. It was a delicate balance to keep his brothers together while still letting them exercise the freedom they'd had while they'd been human. After all, he'd been living out of home for nearly three years, and Clint had been leaving the house for days at a time since he'd turned sixteen before finally getting his own place soon after his twentieth birthday. As much as they'd loved each other, they had lived separate lives, keeping in touch with a complex phone network and the rare family gathering. Occasionally, and unavoidably, they were going to grate on each other's nerves. Bobby just seemed to suffer from it more often than the others.

Still, Ripster resolved to have a word with Streex about going AWOL. If anything ever happened they had to know he could still be contacted. Bobby had always possessed an air of irresponsibility, much like Clint, but now the stakes were so much more deadly. It wasn't exactly reassuring that Streex felt he could leave whenever he wanted and they'd be left to fend without him.

But such things could wait until morning. In the meantime, Ripster planned to rest as much as possible before the next confrontation.

* * *

The Seavients weren't entirely sure of what to make of their creator's sudden good mood. Ever since Slash had found the dingy silver case, it had been rare to see the scientist without a smile on his face. Not a nice smile either, but one that promised someone else's misery in the near future.

With that in mind, the Seavients had made sure to stay well out of his way when they weren't needed, though this eventually lead to other problems, namely boredom. Paradigm cared little for the welfare of his creations beyond whether they were fit to fight or not. With nothing else to amuse their admittedly limited minds, they often fell to bickering amongst each other, or planning possibly suicidal diversions.

Like what they were doing now.

"You do it," Killimari pointed a clawed finger at Slash. "You brought him the darn case in the first place."

"No way," the other hissed back. "You do it."

There was an unspoken rule that the doctor was never to be disturbed while he was working. The implied consequences of such an act, despite the Doctor's seemingly good mood, were more than either of them waned to risk. Getting Slobster to do it was pointless. Though the lobster was as bored and restless as they, he lacked the subtlety to navigate the Doctor's unpredictable moods. He'd probably end up respliced with a guppy before getting an answer.

The more intelligent of the Seavients, on the other hand, were intensely curious as to what was going on behind the closed door of the lab. Like small children, all their questions had been brushed aside. None of them knew the Doctor's real plan, or why he'd been ordering them to commit such mediocre acts of mayhem instead of the usual full-blown destruction. They didn't know why he'd been telling them to hold back in battle, allowing the fights to stretch on much longer than usual.

It was frustrating, both the lack of knowledge and the lack of action they were used to. Holding back against a foe was an unnatural reflex for all of them, and after weeks of waiting they were getting impatient enough to consider crossing that dangerous threshold uninvited to get to the bottom of it all.

"Where are you going?" Killimari whispered harshly as Slash abruptly turned his back on them. The need for quiet was unnecessary - the lab doors were heavily soundproofed - but it seemed more fitting in light of what they were planning to do.

"Paradigm put you in charge. If you want answers, _you_ ask him." The swordfish quickly turned the corner, not wanting to be anywhere near the lab when it happened. From experience he knew Killimari wouldn't be patient enough to either chase him down or wait for the Doctor to give up his secrets. As long as he wasn't given a choice in the matter, the squid would do all the work for him.

Killimari stared blankly at the spot where Slash had disappeared from sight, then at Slobster. The lobster offered him a clueless look, but was otherwise incredibly unhelpful. Finally, the squid stared at the imposing doors of the laboratory, wringing one set of hands in indecision. After another moment of hesitation he proved Slash's theory correct, and pushed against the doors, surprised what they opened easily at his touch. He'd half-expected them to be locked, but since none of the Seavients had ever disturbed him before there probably wasn't a reason for the Doctor to do so.

Inside was silent except for the faint humming of computers. The lights provided only a dim illumination, so it took a few moments before Killimari picked out the hulking shape of Paradigm looming over a frantically processing screen. The Doctor was encased in his protective suit, as always, presenting him as an even more impressive figure than he already was. The squid could hear a faint muttering as Paradigm mouthed the results the computer was giving him. He waited for a few moments, but it seemed the scientist was too engrossed in his work to register the world around him.

"Doctor," Killimari called respectfully, nervous of how his creator would react to this unprecedented intrusion. Far from being startled from his work, Paradigm slowly turned around to eye his creation.

"Ah. Killimari," Paradigm greeted, almost cheerfully. He wore the same smile he'd been wearing all week, and Killimari had to suppress a flinch. Somehow, the expression was worse than the trademarked piranha-teeth grimace. "Have you come to view my latest work?" The gleeful doctor expansively waved his hand at a nearby container.

The huge tube nearly reached the ceiling, and after a moment of peering at the murky water inside it, Killimari recoiled in surprise. "This is…"

Paradigm, with unprecedented fondness, placed a hand on the side of the tank, allowing a gleeful smile to creep onto his features. "The end of the Sharks," he declared, and the sickly lights of the lab cast an unhealthy glow over his face and the shadowy form of the creature in the tank. "And I believe it's just about time we introduced them to their fate.

* * *

Ripster had gotten good at anticipating the delicate balance of a fight between two opposing forces. Mutant battles were messy, and had a tendency to stretch out to test the limits of his peripheral vision, but things had been going there way and so it didn't worry him that he'd lost sight of Jab until he'd smelled the blood. Like a silent, invisible SOS it drove him to cease his tug of war game with Slash – the marlin could keep the damn box and the precious chemicals inside it – and leave. Letting go so abruptly caused Slash to overbalance, and there was a jarring clatter from inside the box, but Ripster didn't pause to take stock of it. If he was lucky, something had broken. If not, it couldn't be helped. He needed to find his brother.

He wouldn't have seen without prompting, but the tingle motion sense called his attention to one of the upper walkways, and he caught a brief glimpse of Streex. Oddly enough the tiger shark wasn't moving, either in the pursuit of a fight or to go to Jab's aid. He was just leaning against the rail, staring down as though none of it concerned him, one foot tapping in absent impatience. Ripster aimed a glare at him that couldn't be seen. What the hell was he doing?

The call of blood was more important though. Turning his attention back to the trail he followed it, rounding the corner of one of the round storage tanks just as Jab did. They shared a two second look of relief before Ripster noticed the spears. "Oh damn…"

Jab grinned, a little wry and pained. "Next time I'll duck faster."

Killamari had peppered him in an unpleasantly similar way to the first time, but with the anti-venom in their blood the poison wouldn't be deadly. The spears were still unpleasant tough. The largest ones were more than an inch thick, and their yellow tips were cruelly sharp. Gingerly, Rip began pulling them out, keeping his fingers away from the points and steadying Jab when his brother started to waver. He could feel the ground shake from a nearby source. If Slammu had been held up, it wouldn't be for long.

"What did I miss?" Streex breathed, skidding to a stop next to his elders. He needed a double take when he saw Jab. "Whoa. Going for the pincushion of the year award bro?"

"Nice of you to join us Streex," Ripster said, usually snappish. He knew Streex acted at his least serious when he was worried but Rip wasn't ready to forgive him for that brief moment of slacking. That was exactly the kind of behavior that could get them killed, even though they were all well practiced at fighting the Seaviants by now.

Streex looked hurt. "Hey, I got caught up."

"Right," Ripster growled in disbelief but the admonishment could wait. "Help me with him."

Jab was decidedly wobbly on his feet, but with each of them adding support and Slammu taking guard they managed to retreat without incident. One more unresolved scuffle…Ripster wondered what the point of it all was.

Oddly enough, as they left he felt another flicker of motion from the rafters, but when he turned to look there was nothing to see.

* * *

"Streex!"

His name echoed harshly in the uncertain darkness of the tunnels, and Ripster's sharp tone somehow made the Tiger Shark want to stop and keep going at the same time. He settled on the former, if only because his brother could be irritatingly persistent and would be breathing on the back of his neck every step to the surface until Streex deigned to speak with him. "I'm going out."

"Now?" Ripster scowled at him, not quite panting – it was a tricky thing to lose your breath when you could breathe though your gills as well – but the sharks' uncanny senses showed he was generating a bit more heat than usual. He must have been running to catch up.

"Sure," Streex shrugged dispassionately. "Nothing to do here but wait and worry, right? I don't dig that kind of thing."

"Jab is hurt and we need you," Ripster snapped back. "Couldn't you spare some of your precious time for us just for tonight?"

That might have worked on the others but Streex was immune to most appeals to his better nature. "And do what? Pretend to be in awe over his new scars and help you and Lena plot what move Paradigm's going to make next? Puh-leaze. I'm no good at that kind of thing, and you two just get lost in your own little world anyway. Jab'll be fine."

Not that he'd gotten a very good look at that injury, but Jab was still complaining so he couldn't have been that bad off. Right?

"It doesn't matter if you're doing anything or not. Your presence matters, _Bobby_."

Streex didn't like how his human name came off as almost an insult, nor did he care to think about whatever point Ripster was trying to prove by using it. "It only matters because you get a kick out of keeping us all under your thumb."

Ripster stared in shock. "What?"

But Streex was on a roll of resentful fury, and words rose like bile. "You're not Dad _John_. You can't keep us all together like he can, and I'm sick of you ordering us around and expecting us to follow like good little soldiers. You don't have a clue what you're doing and don't even try to pretend otherwise. There's only one person who can undo what Paradigm does and _he's not here._"

The one thing Streex was masterful at, besides organizing his social calendar, was striking deftly to the heart of a person's insecurities. He almost regretted it, seeing Ripster rock back on his heels as though he'd been stuck by a blow instead of words, but guilt rolled harmlessly off his conscious like water off a duck's back and he was too angry to care. The sentiment had been festering in his mind for months now, and speaking them was like lancing the wound afresh even if it spread the poison to another.

He turned on his heel and stormed off, no real destination in mind. Ripster didn't try to follow him.

* * *

"Predictable as ever," Slash said, more to himself than his companion as Streex rose from the underground passage they'd located more than a month ago, but the Tiger Shark was the only one who used it regularly. He paused to shake his shoulders, as though dislodging some kind of physical burden before heading to the carefully hidden motorbike. Slash had often considered that the easiest way to end the existence of this particular shark would be to plant a bomb on the machine, but Paradigm had put a stop to all extramural plotting in preparation for his latest scheme, and Slash probably couldn't have done it without leaving some trace of his presence. No point in tipping them off early.

"Practically an invitation to kill him, isn't it," the other asked, lining up his hands as though catching Streex in the scope of a rifle. "We could take him right now, you know. Why wait?"

Tempting as it was, Slade was inclined to disagree on principal. "The Doctor told us to wait," he hissed, following with a smug leer. "You know what'll happen if you don't follow his orders to the letter." He made an abrupt cutting motion in the air, and was gratified when his companion nearly flinched.

"Well." Sarcasm was thick. "If that's what the Doctor ordered…"

"We follow him," Slash reminded, not really trusting his companion to remember without constant prompting. "And we wait for the right opportunity."

Red claws flashed readily in the moonlight. "Just don't slow me down."

* * *

_Carnival of Horrors: Creatures from the Deep! _

The paint was new but the sign was not. Streex was rather amazed that the old billboard hadn't been torn down yet. It wasn't as though the amusement part was lacking for money these days. After all, it had a proud foothold in Fission City's history as being the battleground for the first mutant showdown, and the promotional materiel had adjusted according.

_We're the best marketing ploy to hit this town_, Streex mused sardonically.

The park now paid a peculiar homage to the infamous vigilantes and villains of Fission City. The original Ferris wheel they'd destroyed hadn't been fixed, but was now used as a strange centerpiece to the park complete with informative posters and blurry photographs that documented the battle. There was a slew of 'authentic' artifacts held in opaque display containers that you could pay a quarter to look in to; claw scratched concrete, tooth marks in metal, that kind of thing. Streex thought it was all a bit ridiculous, and then promptly wondered if he and his brothers should be earning royalties from the whole thing. Money was money, even if they couldn't just walk into the mall and buy things anymore.

The rides were all themed with monstrous ocean creatures and even the poor souls paid to walk around in costume now sported flippers and gills. That was the main reason Streex came here; his fin wouldn't earn more than a second glance as long as no one got too close. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding when he needed to, and on the few occasions he'd actually been spotted by people the worst that had happened was being hugged by a bunch of sticky kids. He'd even had a few compliments about his realistic costume, which always made him grin.

As a human he'd been a little 'too cool' for the park, which was the perfect hangout for a thirteen year old but a severe embarrassment at eighteen when the best ride had been a rickety old roller coaster that was closed for repairs more often than not. Now it was the best he had to fill his social quota of the week. Spending too much time around his brothers tended to make him a little stir crazy.

The reminder made him scowl. Now that he'd had some time to cool off he could admit some of those words were a little out of line, but how was he supposed to act when Ripster started shortening his leash? At home and under guard was the last places he wanted to be. Who could unwind like that? He needed fresh air and bright lights and people talking. Shark Central was too tense these days. The atmosphere choked him, and there were times when Streex thought it would do Rip good to be reminded that he couldn't control everything, least of all Streex's need to be on his own.

Besides, Rip would forgive him. He always did. They couldn't afford to be mad at each other for too long and honestly Streex was kind of glad that their current circumstance and Rip's own natural penchant for peace would smooth over the worst of that fight. That way he didn't have to work up the proper humility to apologize.

The colorful crowds of people worked to distract him from further brooding. A little more human contact would do them all some good, he decided silently, focusing in particular on a girl wearing a pale grey dolphin costume that wasn't quite as tattered as the others. Nice legs, for a dolphin. Great smile too. He was kept entertained for a good ten minutes speculating on the means of approaching her that would land him with a date instead of panic followed by an angry mob. Sadly, reality kept intruding every time. Damn.

He let his eyes wander for another candidate his the daydreams were starting to sour on the dolphin girl; no, maybe, hell no, nice flippers on that one, ye-oh wait, that's a guy, another maybe, hey check out the stripes on that one-

He tried to quickly drag his eyes back but by then his target had moved behind a hot dog stand. The memory hastily rewound and no, he hadn't imagined it, because for a second he'd seen stripes. His own, distinctive, purple, arrowhead stripes on a pale blue costume that had definitely looked shark-ish. In fact, it had definitely looked more like a street shark then the majority of foam-and-felt imitations in the park. Was this some kind of new marketing ploy?

After a moment offense set in. Hey! The park was already earning enough at the expense of he and his brothers, now they were stealing their looks too? Streex was perversely proud of his tiger shark hide, and he'd be damned if he was going to let some cheap imitation wander around and get all the chicks. A nice, friendly chat ought to set him right, he decided with a wicked smirk.

Creeping out of his shadowy hideaway, he skirted the lit areas of the park and followed his doppelganger towards the arcade. A high, hissing noise followed by a loud pop made him flinch, but after a moment he realized that it was just the fireworks show starting. Neon colors of light bloomed against the dark sky. Perfect! Everyone would be too busy looking up to notice him as long as he moved fearlessly.

Up ahead he could another glimpse of his look-alike. As a worker he'd probably seen the display a dozen times already, so he wasn't stopping to gawk like the tourists. Good. Streex would need a more private venue to conduct his little 'talk' and-

Hey wait, where'd he go?

His gait slowed in uncertainty. At some point between the flash of the fireworks, the distracting whirr of the carousel, and blinking motor oil fumes out of his eyes, his doppelganger had disappeared…or so he thought until he saw the outline of a door almost hidden by rust and shadows on the side of a large shed. The door was marked 'Staff Only'. It was also broken open.

Odd, he thought, tentatively pushing it and wincing at the dying squeal the hinges made, but inside there wasn't an answering sound of surprise or movement. Silence. Freaky. But what the hell was he worried about? It'd take at least a small group of humans to worry him, and all he would be going up against was one. In a costume no less. That would be hindering.

Ignoring the way his senses were prickling uneasily, he glanced back once at the warm flashing lights and cheerful music of the park before committing himself to the uncertain darkness inside the building. His eyes adjusted slowly, but he was prepared to rely on those last. With ever other sense in overdrive from his faint unease, he could hear the pitiful sounds of roaches scrabbling in the walls beneath the explosive sounds of the fireworks, and the haunting sound of wind in the rafters. There must be a broken window in here somewhere. Funny, though, he couldn't smell anyone but himself. Usually you could scent those costumes from halfway across the park. The powerful dyes were distinctive, and the foam tended to accumulate a lot of sweat.

His eyes began to pick out faint shapes. The building must have been used for storage. He could see the flat outlines of large crates arranged on long, tall shelves, and obscure mechanical apparatus gave off the strong scents of grease, proving that his nose wasn't entirely useless. Still, try as he might, the only human scents he could detect were old and cold. Maybe the look-alike hadn't come in here after all?

He was nearly ready to turn back around in defeat when he caught a flash of movement from further down the aisle. A mere glimpse of something that might have been shark shaped, might have been blue, and might have had stripes, but that was good enough for him. His sense of smell was probably just confused by all the buttery popcorn. Food was the one distraction that his instincts couldn't ignore.

Straightening his shoulders, he decided to ditch the stealthy approach, and walked confidently. Sneaking would have felt like he was giving into the tension, which he stoutly refused to do because damned if he was going to be unsettled by one scentless jerk in a shark suit. The very idea was ludicrous. As he approached he noticed there was an odd, regular bobbing motion to his prey, and an equally eerie silence. At this distance he should be able to hear breathing at least, but his eyes were determined to convince him that the other shark should be less than fifteen feet away. Ten; still no sound, but he could definitely see the outline of a striped fin now. Five; still moving without any apparent intimidation despite the fact that Streex had certainly been anything but quiet in his approach. He wanted to see some fear, after all, and the lack of it was downright unprecedented. One more step and he paused, suddenly realizing what he was looking at and he could have laughed in relief.

A mirror.

"Damn," he swore, reaching out to touch its glossy surface reassuringly. It must have been some reject from the Fun House, because his reflection was distorted a little. He hadn't quite recognized it at first. The barren spookiness of the place must be getting to him because his heart was racing much faster than it should have been-

"Boo," whispered a voice, right in his ear.

He didn't jump, not quite. Hyper-alert as he was, he's had the briefest of warnings that something had moved at his back, but hadn't been more than distantly aware of it until the voice. Spinning quickly, he had his arms raised and ready to defend, but his eyes were playing a serious trick on him because all he saw was-

_Another mirror?_

Streex stalled, confused. It was like he were blinded and smothered even though both his sight and his sense of smell were dutifully relaying various pieces of information but it was all _wrong_, because there still wasn't any scent but his own and the only thing he could see was _himself_. Except the visage in front of him was wearing a wide smirk that certainly wasn't on his own face, and in defiance of all logic his reflection pulled back an arm and elbowed him savagely in the gut.

The mirror shattered noisily when Streex crashed into it, but the noise would go unnoticed under the cover of the fireworks. Shards raked his back as he fell, still stunned and _hurting_ because his bizarrely animated reflection also had his mutant strength and had knocked the wind right out of him. His gills would still take air while he choked, but the recovery time was still far too long.

"Broke a mirror?" His reflection leaned down, pulling at one of the pieces that had gouged into Streex's skin. The wound was shallow, but he still winced when it came out. "That's seven years back luck for one of us." The reflection's eyes were too bright, lit with unholy satisfaction. "I'm guessing it's you."

Streex hadn't seen the heavy bar in the reflection's hand, but he got a good look at it now and realized what it was for when the reflection drew it back to swing it. His lungs still burned but panic was the stronger motivator. He tried to rise but a heavy boot came down on his shoulder, pressing him back into the floor.

"Hold still!"

The bar came down, too fast to dodge.

* * *

Paradigm's computer systems were defended with a formidable security system, one that had only improved over time, but its one weakness had been secretly written in right back when the war had first started and to this day remained undiscovered. The hidden backdoor program was known only to one, and even so, it could only be used infrequently and quickly – only long enough to skim the most important files before logging off or risk being traced.

The owner of this backdoor hummed absently as his fingers flew over the keys with the complexity of an orchestral piece, moving through the information too quickly to be interpreted, but his computer would be copying every file he clicked, allowing him to go back over it later at his leisure.

His hands slowed habitually as he reached a familiar database. It was old, and one he was well acquainted with, but the information it contained was of particular interest, and any updates were an irresistible lure to investigate even though he knew he had to hurry. Most often the news was unsatisfying, detailing inconclusive encounters, but even as his eyes scrolled down the list he had committed to memory he realized there was a new addition.

_Subject 012: Bolton, – (Blades) _

The name 'Bolton' had his hands pausing in confusion. Up until now there had been only five Boltons on that list, starting with _Subject 003: Bolton, Robert Snr. (No Alias)_. The appearance of a sixth was both ludicrous and alarming. He found himself clicking the file where better judgment would have avoided a possible trap, but after a moment he realized that it seemed to be a legitimate entry. Even so, he really shouldn't have stopped to read it. His computer was recording anyway, but his body was a traitor to his good sense and he found himself drawn in to the text that was equal parts clinical exposition and insufferably egotism. Paradigm was hardly an unbiased source when it came to his own experiments.

The first of his alarms sounded. He'd overstayed his welcome, and there was a good chance the system was now homing in on his position. With a curse he activated a program to help cover his graceless exit from the network, but almost immediately it was forgotten in favor of retrieving that data for a closer inspection. He wasn't quite sure what Paradigm had intended for this unusual new project, but surely it couldn't be good.


	3. Part 2

**Blades: Part 2**

* * *

The bump on his head was definite goose egg material, and as Streex touched it gingerly he drunkenly thought, _Damn, that's gonna ruin my chances for a Friday night date._

He hadn't intended to say it out loud, but a sharp laugh answered him. "I think your weekend plans are on indefinite hold there pal, but don't worry. I'll be having enough fun for both of us."

The floor came into focus first. With a little encouragement he managed to raise his head and made out the blurry outlines of cage bars. Beyond that was a pair of legs, and he was forced to crane his neck a little to look up (and up) at his smirking captor. His very first reaction was _Oh shit_, but Streex had seen plenty of bizarre things since he'd first been turned shark, and had learned that admitting the shock only made things worse.

Instead he said, "Let me guess…evil twin from an alternate universe?"

"Nope," the other Tiger Sharks said. "But in the same scope of bad science fiction plots. Try again."

Streex thought about it for a second. His conclusion was a little unbelievable but he was uncomfortably certain. "You're a clone."

"Ding! Fifty points for contestant number one." The clone crouched down, putting his toothy grin right up against the bars. "Unfortunately you're a little slow off the mark there. Taking you down was embarrassingly easy. It's hard to believe we're supposed to be the same person."

Outrage prompted Streex to sit up in spite of his body's objections. "Like hell we are!" he growled, but the physical resemblance between them went so far beyond striking it was unnatural. Streex was very familiar with his own appearance, considering how carefully he cultivated it, and this imposter was a perfect mirror of it except for one detail. He frowned. "Your stripes were purple before."

The clone held out his arm and nonchalantly admired his own red, triangular stripes. "Personally, I think my real color is more striking than yours, but they're a bit of a giveaway. I'll change them back later." He eyed Streex with dark delight. "Wouldn't want your brothers realizing I'm not the real you."

Streex stiffened. "My-?"

"_Our_ brothers, actually," the clone corrected. "We're genetically identical, so I'm just as related to them as you are. Just think of me as the twin you never had…And my first act of brotherhood was borrowing your wardrobe. Hope you don't mind."

Streex glanced down, belatedly realizing that the pants he was wearing weren't his own, and the clone was now in his shorts, shoes, and even had his watch. He felt vaguely violated. "Hey!"

"Sorry," the clone shrugged, not sounding it. "Wouldn't do to be anything less than authentic when I go to meet them."

He was immediately diverted from his personal offense to wonder how much damage could an imposter wearing his face could do. He covered his worry with a sneer. "You think they can't pick the real deal? You might have my looks by you don't have my memories, faker."

"Oh really?" The smugness was radiating enough that Streex could practically feel it cloying the room. "So I don't know about that after school detention you got in eight grade for throwing water balloons at the girl's softball team? Or the horror movie marathon you had on your sixteenth birthday?" The clone leaned close again. "Or how about Lindsey Higgins? Pretty little red head? Dated her for about a month last summer?"

Streex's shocked silence spoke louder than words, and the clone's grin was victorious. "What? Cat got your tongue? You're looking a little bit green there bro, and believe me you don't make it look good."

It wasn't just his looks. Streex had been confident a second ago, because while their outlined might be the same, the little details were different in more than just the color of their stripes. The clone had Streex's voice but used it differently; a different pitch, a different tone…but after that little tirade he realized the differences had been intentional, and the clone had purposefully dropped them to show the truth. He could imitate Streex flawlessly if he chose. His speech patterns, his gestures, his mannerisms. Perfect.

And had his memories too. Of course Streex had figured that any decent imposter would know the big details of his life. His birth date, the schools he'd been to, maybe a few of the highlights…the intimate little details scared him. It took him a few seconds to find his voice. "How-?"

"Because I _am_ you," the clone said, and there was a twist of something unpleasant in his tone despite his obvious satisfaction at having Streex unnerved. "In fact I'm _better_ than you. You're a pathetic waste of potential, just like the Doctor said, and you're lucky that you're slightly more valuable to me alive or you wouldn't be."

Before Streex had to think up a reply to that, there was a short chirp from Streex's stolen watch. The clone glanced at it. "Oops. Running late. Better go put on the big show so your brothers can 'save' me and take me home. Your secret hideout isn't going to be a secret for much longer."

Streex lunged at him, but the bars brought him up short without getting his grasping claws anywhere near the clone. The attempt earned him a derisive laugh.

"See you later 'brother'."

The lights went out when the clone departed, leaving Streex alone in the dark.

* * *

The fierce glower Slash was wearing didn't lighten when the ugly, unremarkable van wheeled crazily into the parking lot, skidding to a halt across two full spaces and hitting a small garbage bin for good measure.

Slobster huffed indignantly. "Even I don't drive that bad, and I don't have hands."

The door nearly broke off when the shark slammed it open and jumped out with much more grace than he drove with. The two seaviants tensed from habit, but of course Streex wouldn't have approached that that nonchalantly. The clone had fixed his coloring with the Doctor's special formula, and was currently indistinguishable from the real thing…except if the clone had done its job properly then the real thing was currently trapped in a cage hidden on the bottom level of one of Paradigm's secretly owned warehouses.

Slash hissed, baring his teeth. "You're late shark."

"Have you seen the traffic in this town?" the clone asked, shrugging expansively. "The Doctor told me not to attract notice. If the police caught me speeding we'd be screwed, wouldn't we?"

Slash doubted that the shark had driven as carefully as he was making out considering his demonstrated parking finesse, but there was no point in arguing. Time had been wasted enough already. "Did you get it?"

"Of course." The clone held up a flat, palm-sized device whose only distinguishing features were a dark rectangular panel and a large button. Slash watched him press it, and was rewarded with a completely unspectacular flash of red from the panel, followed by nothing. The clone tossed it on the ground carelessly. "That'll bring them running."

Slash stared at it warily, but the device did nothing further. Still, he knew from past experience that the brothers used them as a SOS signal if they ran into trouble alone in the city, and the nearly indestructible tracker housed inside the casing would guide the rest of them here in less than twenty minutes. It was enough time to stage a convincing looking fight…one that the clone would be forced to lose as part of the plan.

Slash grinned nastily. "Let's go. We've already taken care of security inside."

Slobster clacked his claws eagerly, staring at the clone in a way a wolf might eye off a limping sheep. "This is going to be good."

"Yeah, yeah." The shark didn't offer them so much as a flinch. He didn't seem to think of either of the seaviants as much of a threat, despite the beating he was about to submit to. "I know it'll be hard, but just this once why don't you try not screwing up for a change. Make it look good."

Slash sneered. In the short time he had existed, Slash had come to regard the clone as at least as much of a pain than the original Streex. "Don't you worry about that. We won't be holding back."

"I'm ready." The clone brushed past Slash without a second thought, ducking through the newly made whole in the fence without pausing to note the sign that said the Marine Park was closed for repairs.

* * *

"I can't believe this," Ripster growled, scrabbling hastily through the mess on Bends's work table to gather up the tools for the emergency kit he always took when responding to one of his brother's distress calls. He believed in coming prepared, and if it took slightly longer to get there it was countered by the relief of having a torch or a bandage right when he needed it.

Jab struggled to sit up, not quite able to hide his winces. "I can-"

"Lie down," Ripster ordered irritably. "Slammu and I can take care of it."

The problem with the panic button was that it didn't give any idea of the scope of the problem, and though Bends was still trying Streex wasn't picking up his phone. It might be damaged, or in an area with no signal or, hell, he might just not have taken it with him. Ripster couldn't say he was thrilled to have to confront Streex again any time soon, but if his brother needed a rescue there was no chance he'd ignore it even if he wasn't quite ready to forgive, and even if Streex had worked up any true regret over the fight, which he probably hadn't. Ripster knew better than to expect even a thank you at the end of the night, but family was family.

Jab had noticed his tension, and seemed to have guessed the cause. Ripster might as well be wearing the barbs from Streex's words on his skin. Even if Jab didn't know what the fight was about, long association gave him an accurate guess as to who deserved the blame. "When that idiot gets back I'll tear him a new one for you, okay?"

Ripster snorted. "You can try. It'll probably just bounce right off that ego of his." He finally found the lock pick and threw it in the bag with the rest of his stuff and zipped it up. "You take it easy, okay?"

Jab grunted. "Remember, as long as he's in one piece you don't have to feel guilty about the bruises he gets."

Ripster cracked a small, unwilling grin. "I'll remember that."

* * *

The bastard had hit him too hard.

The clone seethed silently on the ground, which was at least in character for the role he was supposed to be playing, but he didn't much need to fake his spasmodic twitches as his scrambled brain attempted to remember how his arms were supposed to work. He was utterly safe in the knowledge that he had seen that the blow coming a mile away, and had needed to force himself not to dodge it, but the Seaviants were definitely taking the whole gloat-over-the-fallen-shark thing a little too far. Naturally they'd tell the doctor that it had all been part of the plan, but it said something about their wounded pride that he wasn't even the real thing and they were still getting such a kick out of it.

The headache was turning out to be a real bitch. Paradigm had assured him that it should only be a trivial annoyance to someone of his brilliant genetic makeup, but he was barely more than a week old and still only just getting used to how badly pain actually hurt. He darkly resolved to take his revenge on Slash later. He'd do it right now except that it would be an interruption to Paradigm's carefully orchestrated plan, and for some reason the ground had decided to align itself vertically. He couldn't figure out how to stand on it.

Thinking straight was a little out of his ability just now, he decided dazedly, but it was probably a good thing. The more injured he was, the less the Shark brothers would question his little inconsistencies.

Waiting for them to show up was alternatively boring and irritating as the pounding in his head grew and receded. He planted his face comfortably in the dirt and feigned unconsciousness for a bit.

"Think he looks roughed up enough?" Slash asked, and the sharp hissing in his speech put the clone's nerves on edge. "Maybe we should hit him a bit more."

The tiger shark growled, reaching his limit and deciding that maybe he could improvise on the plan a little. After all, the real Streex wouldn't be worried about doing harm to the Doctor's other creations, so he shouldn't be either. Soon as he could figure out how to stand he was gonna make Slash eat his own nose…unfortunately Slash was quicker, aiming a savage kick at the clone's side just as he'd managed to raise to his elbows. Bastard.

Eyes clenched in pain, he didn't actually see whatever made Slash screech in surprise and fury, but the sound filled him with vengeful satisfaction. _About damn time._

The next thing he was aware of was being gently shaken by the shoulder, and the small movement ignited the sharp agony in his ribs and the dizzying throb in his head. "Hey Streex, wake up!"

He belatedly realized he must have lost some time, or maybe passed out despite his sheer disbelief that such a thing could have happened. Disoriented, the first thing he said was, "Don't talk so loud. My head is killing me."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Come on, get up."

He didn't have to worry about giving himself away like this. Genetic programming insured that he actually had to concentrate in order to _not_ act like Streex, so injured and on the borderline of consciousness he was a better copy than when he was fully awake. Even Ripster's voice made him relax because he'd been trained to find it familiar.

He opened his eyes, gave a weak grin, and delivered the line he'd prepared for. "Hey bro."

He'd expected…more, really. Paradigm's hateful reverence and the seaviants' fear had given the clone a strong impression of Ripster's ferocity. Paradigm still considered the great white to be the best of his creations, with his unique motion sense and strength and intelligence balanced to form the most deadly combination.

The reality was only a shade bigger in each dimension than the clone himself, and while he did have teeth, he didn't have claws, and he certainly didn't act like he was on the verge of tearing something apart. Still, Paradigm had promised that Ripster was smart. If the clone's pretense was going to fail on anyone, it would be him.

He didn't even get a second glance as Ripster hauled him to his feet. "We've gotta go before the cops get here. Can you walk?"

The clone was surprised that he didn't hold his weight right and overbalanced. Ripster righted him, and thankfully seemed to assume it was a side effect of the injuries. He didn't resist the impulse to say, "I could if you can get the ground to stop moving for a minute."

Ripster's smirk seemed a little more strained than usual, but the clone attributed that to the circumstances. "Come on, we'll get you home."

This was going to be a lot easier than he'd expected.

* * *

On second thought, he'd take his chances with the seaviants. They'd probably be kinder. 

"Ow," he objected loudly, struggling unhappily to get out of Ripster's reach. "Okay, I get it, you're pissed at me going off alone. It won't happen again, now could you please stop it with the torture."

"Suck it up bro," Jab said, gleefully watching the provided entertainment as Ripster bandaged the tiger shark's wounds…not gently.

"Go to hell," the clone grumbled, but without much annoyance. Despite his initial supposition, Ripster was being…cold to him. Was he just pissed at 'Streex' for getting into trouble, or was he suspicious? For all the research and knowledge Paradigm had programmed into him, the clone didn't actually have enough experience with the nuances of Ripster's character to tell. Damn this was hard.

The bandage around his bruised wrist was tied off tighter than necessary, and Ripster curtly began throwing things back in the med kit. "Done."

"Thanks," the clone said, rubbing where it ached, and tried to figure a reason for Ripster's surprised stare. He ran through his list of Streex-isms, and decided that his original would probably consider this a good time for a sheepish apology. "Look bro, I'm-"

"Save it," Ripster snapped. The clone flinched at the tone, more nervous that he'd been found out than hurt, but rather than facing an accusation Ripster stormed out without another word.

The clone looked at Jab inquiringly. "What's his problem?"

"Don't look at me. If you two are having trouble you can work it out yourselves." The truly bewildered expression on his brother's face made him take pity despite every intention to make Streex suffer through this one on his own. "Just give him a bit of time to cool off first, okay?"

The clone wanted to ask what he'd done, but there was a chance that Jab might not know, and an even better chance that Streex should. He shrugged philosophically. "You'd think he could show a little more sympathy though. Without me the seaviants would have made off with a new test subject, and what do I get? Half a dozen bruises and the cold shoulder. Ouch."

Jab snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You heroically made a target out of yourself. We heard." He fixed his pillow so he could lie back down again, intending to sleep well past lunchtime tomorrow. "What were you doing at the marine park anyway?"

Streex sighed wistfully. "Well I heard they had this really cute nurse shark there-"

He didn't get any further before Jab's pillow hit him in the head.

* * *

"The plan went off without a hitch Doctor," Slash reported, standing straight and throwing smug looks in Killamari's direction. The squid hadn't been allowed to accompany them. His enthusiasm for crushing the sharks usually overrode his ability to stick to the Doctor's plans, and even if he was the most powerful seaviant he wasn't the brightest. Slash could gleefully take all the credit this time.

"Excellent Slash," Paradigm said, and the rare warmth in his voice assured the Marlin he wasn't going to be forgetting this night for some time. A freely given beating for a shark, and the sincere appreciation of his creator? He could barely contain his pride.

"And you Slobster. A well played feint…and it worked exactly as I predicted it would."

Slobster beamed – a visage that wasn't exactly pretty to look at. It ruined Slash's mood somewhat. Slobster hadn't really done much except help him smack around the clone a little and then run away at the appropriate moment. In fact the lobster had been a little too quick off the mark when the big orange one had glared at him.

"So what happens next?" Slash asked. He'd been intensely curious about the full extent of the Doctor's plan, but his creator hadn't trusted them with the information before they'd been sent out. Even the clone had only been briefed the hour before, and had been insufferably close mouthed about it. Slash could predict, of course, but he'd prefer to have the specifics.

In response, Paradigm took the timer on his desk, set it, and put it down facing the seaviants. Slash took stock of the hours it was counting down. "Three days?"

Paradigm nodded serenely. "That's when the clone will be reporting back to me on the sharks. Their location, their defenses, their weaknesses, all of it."

Slash frowned. "But what if he doesn't want to? Aren't you worried he might decide to stay with the sharks?"

Slash had certainly thought it a strong possibility. After all, a shark was a shark. The clone had been programmed to think of the sharks as his family, and the whole time he'd been with the seaviants his behavior had been questionable. Even if he'd been created like they had, with intelligence and learning that was wholly artificial, he'd acted like one of the human-born alters. He didn't treat the Doctor with any more respect than he had to, and he obviously didn't hold any allegiance to his cause. What if he decided the bond of blood was stronger than loyalty to his creator?

Paradigm seemed unphased by the question. "He won't."

"The Doctor fixed him real good," Killamari added admiringly, and Slash scowled at him. Apparently to placate the squid, Paradigm had told him more of the plan than Slash had been allowed to know.

"He doesn't have a choice but to work for me, from now until whenever I decide he's run out of usefulness." Paradigm waved his hand to show it was of no matter to him. "I'm amazed it never occurred to me to try this before. If he turns out to be successful I may just clone all of my experiments from now on."

"So what happens in three days?" Slash asked impatiently.

Paradigm's smirk widened even further, and as Slash and Slobster crowded around eagerly, he told them.

* * *

The clock on the nightstand finally ticked over onto six am. His first day on the job. Thrilling. The clone breathed deeply a few times - as much to steel himself as to test residual tightness across his chest - and got up. Jab stirred a little but didn't wake, and the clone paused beside him briefly, reflecting on how easy it would be to end one of the Doctor's problems right here and now…but that wasn't his mission, and personally he thought the Doctor could go hang. Instead he opened the door as quietly as he could and went about exploring. 

He had a vague idea where the Shark's hideout was located, having tried to memorize as many landmarks as he could when they'd brought him in, but the concussion had muddled his memories. He wouldn't be able to describe the exact location until he managed to get to the surface again, but it would have been suspicious for 'Streex' to go out so quickly after yesterday's debacle, and in all honesty the clone didn't particularly feel like hurrying when his ribs were still hurting like hell.

Figuring out the 'where' could wait, and in the meantime he could find out what sort of resources they had access to. Especially of the edible variety. Didn't they say an army ran on its stomach? Man he was hungry, and something down here smelled delicious. He didn't know the layout of the place, but it didn't matter. His nose guided him along with the promise of something hot and savory, and he was three distracted strides into the kitchen before he realized that this particular meal was accompanied by a side order of beautiful lady.

"Hi Streex," Lena said. "I brought breakfast."

It was a good thing she was distracted with her packages because otherwise she would have seen how badly shocked the clone was on the thought of _whatthehellisshedoinghere?_

And then the second realization. _Holy crap, she's working for the other side._

He knew who Lena was, of course. She was on Paradigm's 'do not eat' list; the very selective compilation of names for people that the Doctor considered to play an important role in his plans, or people he was just too fond of to let his Seaviants kill on a whim. She was the Doctor's dayside research assistant, and one of the many spoils that Paradigm had claimed from his predecessor, Robert Bolton. For that reason alone he would have kept her on staff, but she'd also made herself practically indispensable to Paradigm, and the man had been very clear on what would happen if any of his creations laid a hand on her. The clone hadn't been around long, but he'd suspected that Paradigm had considered recruiting her for his real cause.

Apparently it was a little too late for that.

He also knew a few more personal details – what Paradigm assumed Streex would know about her. She'd often been the liaison between Bolton and his sons, and had once been pretty friendly with all of them. Although strike the 'once'; she was entirely unconcerned at having him – a large, dangerous predator and by most counts a criminal - at her back. And a very nice back it was, even if she was wearing her work clothes.

"You can help unpack any time," she said, with a hint of motherly exasperation, and it was enough warning for him to school his features before she turned around. Ironically, her first expression was just as startled as his had been. "Oh Streex, are you okay?"

He'd nearly forgotten his injuries but her careful touch brought attention back to the bandages around his ribs. She didn't hurt him but he still tensed. "Um, yeah…"

An unexpectedly glaring oversight in the plan, and he was thrown way out of his depth because despite what he'd implied to Streex he didn't really have any of the original's memories, just some very carefully constructed and highly detailed forgeries but even so there were still holes. He'd only been prepared with the knowledge they'd thought he might need, and that had never induced anything about how Streex acted around Lena. _Damnit. _He'd have to wing it and leave before he did anything to give himself away.

He shifted his pose to accommodate a careless wave and a wide, sly grin. "I'm just fine beautiful, no need to worry."

Her expression told him he'd struck out with the compliment. "Streex…"

He instantly raised his hands defensively to ward off her ire. "Sorry, sorry." He had the feeling Streex's pretensions didn't work on her, so instead he risked letting a little of his strain show. "It's been a long night."

She softened a little. "Rip told me about it on the phone. He didn't say it was this bad though." Her hand was still resting on his arm. Even if it wasn't for _him_, the concern was kind of nice.

"He probably didn't want you to worry-" he hastily cut off another flattering descriptor for her at the end of that sentence. Most of Streex's interaction with women was shameless compliments, jubilant boasting and cunning pleas for dates. With all of that apparently off limits for Lena, he was working without ninety percent of his repertoire and the remaining was unknown territory. To ease the awkward pause he hastily added, "And besides, he's not really happy with me just now."

She gave him a disproving frown. "Are you boys fighting again?"

He wasn't sure exactly, but that look would have made professional con men confess. "Yeah."

"You went out?" she guessed.

"And got into trouble, was you can see." He gestured to his bruises. "He was pretty pis-uh, annoyed." For some reason he didn't want to swear around her either. He didn't know if that was one of Streex's oddities or one of his own, and the realization rankled.

"You know he's just worried about you," she said, lip pursed, and the clone wanted to tell her not to worry so much. Streex was a big boy, he could take care of himself, and the jerk didn't really deserve her look of sadness. She looked better with a smile.

"We'll sort it out," he promised, and when that didn't cheer her he added, "I'll talk to him later, okay?" and wondered whether he was telling the truth or not.

"Alright," she agreed, losing a bit of her pensiveness. As though struck by a thought, she rummaged through her packages and offered one to him. His stomach awoke with a grow as he realized it emitted the same smell that had drawn him here in the first place. "Here, take this and go and get some more rest. I can take care of these."

Her tone didn't give him any room to argue, and he took the package reverently. "Thanks Lena."

His intense sincerity made her swat at him. "It's just breakfast," she said, amused. "You boys and your food…"

True enough, he reflected, heading out of the kitchen. But being offered a hot meal was still sort of a first for him.

* * *

The Seaviants couldn't move around the city until dusk, when the long shadows were better for hiding in and people had much less interest in following suspicious sounds and sights into dark buildings. Slash didn't particularly mind, since in this case it just meant Streex had to spend more hours in a dark, cramped cell contemplating his fate. Moving him was too risky yet; all of the sharks were annoyingly resourceful, and if Streex were to somehow escape in transit then the whole plan would be ruined, but Paradigm wanted to be sure his experiment-subject-to-be was still secure.

It had been Slash's job to ensure it last night, but the clone had offered – insisted – that he was capable. It had meant that original and clone would have some quality time together while Slash go a head start on breaking into the marine park, and the Marlin had let him because it had promised to be entertaining. Slash loathed Streex, but the clone utterly despised the donor of his DNA, and the hatred had been patently obvious in his eyes when he'd made the proposal. Slash had been hoping for blood, but since the clone hadn't come back smelling of it then at least he hoped whatever words the clone had left Streex to stew on had been unpleasant.

Evidently he was still in Paradigm's favor. The Doctor had them all on stand down, laying low until the clone finished its work, and so being assigned the task was an obvious sign that he trusted Slash over Killamari and Slobster. It made him almost proud enough that he briefly considered foregoing the chance to taunt the caged shark…but such chances didn't come around very often and even if it hadn't been explicitly in his orders, it wouldn't hurt them either.

The first level of the warehouse was dark, lifeless and empty; of absolutely no interest to property inspectors and looters alike. Paradigm couldn't always keep suck people off his property, but at least he could ensure that there was nothing for them to see. The ramp to the basement level was hidden, but with a flick of a switch the old machinery groaned to life, and a section of the floor gave away to offer a gentle slope down to the hidden floor.

Slash didn't bother with the lights. His dark vision was good enough, and he knew the layout of this particular cache pretty well. It was where the doctor stored the excess materials from his failed attempts, and Slash had done a good deal of the transporting to get it all here. Among other things there were half a dozen boxes of small purple pills, and a few crates of extremely stale popcorn that still smelled deliciously buttery. Slash sadistically hoped Streex was starving by now. The mutant metabolism didn't do very well without food.

At first he thought his eyes were just not good enough in the dark – it always took a few minutes to adjust completely – but after groping around in the empty space for a few minutes he realized it wasn't him. The truck wasn't here, nor was the cage it contained, and neither was Streex. Gone, all of it. It took him an extra minute of standing in the darkness before the realization sank in to its fullest, and he cringed prematurely.

"The Doctor isn't going to like this," he hissed to himself, knowing immediately who was going to get the blame for this particular setback. And it had started out as such a great day too.

* * *

"Hungry yet?"

Streex jerked at both the sound and the sudden influx of light that seared his eyes, and made an undignified yelp as he was blinded. The clone's footsteps echoed too loudly on the floor, sounding more like a whole crowd of people, but when Streex's vision cleared it was clear the clone was alone…and holding a bag labeled Humongo Burger that Streex found much more riveting. He lunged up against the side of the bars, reaching desperately.

"Gimme!"

"Beg," the clone ordered, so casually that it took Streex a moment to digest it.

His hand withdrew slowly, and he glared venomously at the clone. "Pigs'll fly first."

"Then I'll eat it myself," the clone said cheerfully. Streex refused to whimper, and instead withdrew to the corner of his small cell, willing his stomach not to growl. The clone took out a large box of fries and began eating mannerlessly and loudly. Streex tried not to watch and failed; hungry sharks were fixated on food.

The clone watched him in amusement. "Hope you didn't break any of your teeth trying to chew the bars open. That'd really ruin your looks."

Streex didn't give any sign of hearing, but his jaw twinged sympathetically at the reminder. He'd tried everything, putting every ounce of his strength into getting those bars to shift. Far as he could tell he hadn't even bent them, thought with the light on he could see a few pale scratches on the metal. Not enough to get excited about.

"These are really good," the clone said, waving a handful of fries and talking pointedly with his mouth full. "And the waitress was friendly so I asked her out."

Even more than the food and the baiting, that was enough to get Streex sitting up and taking notice. "What?!"

"Cindy," the clone enunciated the name in a sing-song voice. "She was totally digging the stripes, so I asked her if she wanted to make a night of it and she said yes."

Streex spluttered. Cindy was _his_ waitress! "You bastard, leave her the hell alone!"

"Don't think so," the clone smirked. "She's _hot._ I'm amazed I beat you to it"

"I-" Why hadn't he? He'd never had a girl turn him down before, and she'd definitely had that look about her that said she was interested. He crossed his arms. "I was waiting for a special occasion."

"Like what? The end of the war?" The clone leaned forward conspiratorially. "That'll be sooner than you think."

It really was possible for blood to run cold. Streex hadn't wanted to think about it, but if the clone was here and acting so casual…

"Guess you were wrong about them being able to pick the real thing," the clone completed his thought. "And man, did I hit the mother load of all jackpots! Who would have thought sweet little Lena would be a double agent, huh? Didn't see that one coming."

Streex hadn't expected to feel the words stab quite like that. A real wound would have hurt less. He was prepared to be annoyed that his brothers were apparently dumb enough not to notice a cheap knockoff in their midst, but Lena was their secret ace in the hole, their first line of defense, and the clone _knew_.

Their eyes locked. Streex could barely recognize his own voice. "If you touch her, I'll kill you."

The promise hung heavily in the air, but the clone seemed to recover and literally shook it off. "I won't need to touch her. In two days I'll give my report to Paradigm and he'll take care of it." His smirk had faltered a little, but it was back again. "I wouldn't worry. He probably won't kill her. She could be useful."

Two days? So Streex had time. "You don't need to drag her into this," he said, caught between the cool, commanding tone from before and pleading. Intimidating the clone didn't seem to work very well since he was the one in the cage. "Isn't giving him me and my brothers enough?"

The clone laughed bitterly. "I could give him the whole damn city and it probably wouldn't be enough." Streex blinked, but before he had a chance to ask, the clone went on, "But maybe you'll convince me. Still think pigs will fly first?"

Streex hesitated, and the clone leered. "Next time then. You're lucky I need to get back before they realize I'm gone. See ya."

The darkness was just as sudden and blinding as the light had been, and Streex waited until the clone's footsteps had retreated before he started cursing vilely.

* * *

The clone wished he could whistle. It felt like it would have been appropriate to his jaunty mood that defied the rusted, muggy atmosphere of the steam tunnels. He could safely say this was the best day of his life, although that didn't really count for much. He'd remained undetected for a whole day, had learned far more than Paradigm could possibly have dreamed, and had even gotten a date with a pretty lady, all while his pathetic counterpart was rotting away in a tiny little cell. Who said the copy couldn't surpass the original?

He bared his teeth in displeasure. Well Paradigm had certainly thought so, but perhaps his mind would change when this was all over.

The steam tunnels were only home to roaches and the occasional lost rat, and so when a large shadow shifted in the clone's peripheral vision he started worse than he should have. He hadn't been expecting trouble.

"Bro?" he tried tentatively.

It had been too big to be Lena or Bends, and no one else should have been down here, but the thing that shuffled out of the side tunnel definitely wasn't a shark. It looked more like a giant pile of rags. Some homeless person, he guessed. The shape wasn't quite right though. Hunched and wide, with awkward, graceless movements that made him think there was some kind of deformity hidden under those layers. He sneered in disgust, dropping any trace of Streex's mannerisms. "Beat it human. You're not welcome down here."

His appearance alone should have sent the thing running. Instead it took another step forward. "Hello Blades."

He froze in surprise, and if that's what the thing wanted it didn't take advantage to attack. Even so the clone widened his stance, tensed for a fight. "I think you've got a case of mistaken identity. That's not my name."

"You're not Streex," it said with unwavering conviction, and that decided the clone against holding up the usual pretense.

_I'm going to have to kill this person_, he realized, quivering a little in anticipation and something like awe. He'd speculated that it might happen before this little charade was over, but he hadn't expected it so soon. He attempted not to show his intention quite so obviously, relaxing by a fraction. "No. But that name still doesn't belong to me."

"Isn't that what Paradigm called you?"

It would be a real shame if he didn't find out who this was before he killed them though. The clone decided to see how this would play out. "You need an identity before you can have a name. If you know about me, then you'll know mine is just borrowed."

He felt a sense of disapproval from the rags. "Did Paradigm teach you that?"

"He didn't need to. Can't you see me? Can't you hear me?" His smirk felt empty, and probably looked it. "I'm just an echo of the real thing. You seem to be pretty well informed though. Did you come to get rid of me?"

The rags moved, and he tensed until he realized it was spreading its hands in a non-threatening gesture. "I came to save you."

He stared. And then he laughed until he ran out of breath. "Oh man, that's a good one! In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the one who needs saving here."

"Don't you? I've seen Paradigm's files. I know what he did to you."

His smile vanished. It didn't seem funny anymore. "Screw you old man," he hissed, deciding that's what was probably under all that cloth, though it had been difficult to tell with the low, whispery voice. If there were enough pieces left when he was done, he'd have a proper look.

"You don't have to do this," the man insisted. "You have the potential to be more than just Paradigm's tool."

The clone growled. "If you've seen what he did to me then you know that's bullshit. I work for him or I'm dead-"

"What if I offered you another way out?"

He paused, the unexpectedness temporarily throwing off his killing rage. "What?"

The rags shifted. "I'd need time to get back into Paradigm's files, but I can find a way to help you. I'll get you what you need. There might even be a cure-"

"And then I'll be in debt to you instead of to him," the clone pronounced cynically. "What will you give me that he isn't already?"

The rags stared him down unwaveringly. "Choice."

"…Choice?" Maybe this was a confusion tactic, but it was working. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Having numerous options available to you," the rags told him dryly. "I'm betting you've never had more than one."

The clone seethed. "I know what 'choice' is, thank you, but what-?"

"I won't tell the boys who you are. You can do that when you're ready. Just give me some time to get the information I need, and in the meantime you can decide which of us you'd rather take your chances with. Choice."

The clone huffed, crossing his arms. "If you're trying to force me to side with you, you're doing it all wrong."

He got the impression the rags were smiling. "That's why I'm hoping it'll work. It wouldn't be much of a choice if you were forced." That kind of logic was stunningly, stupidly simple. He didn't react as the rags started to limp away. "Think about it. I'll contact you in a few days."

There was plenty of opportunity for him to run after it, slice it to shreds. Instead he just called sarcastically, "Take your time! It's not like I might be in a hurry or anything!"

He didn't actually moved until the rags were well out of sight, still not quite believing that he'd just let someone who knew the secret of his existence up and walk away when there was every chance they were in league with the sharks. This was probably going to come back and screw him over later. _I must be stupid_, Blades decided, turning for home.


	4. Part 3

**Blades: Part 3**

* * *

Sneaky as Blades was, there was no real way to beat a shark with a motion sense. The lights flicked on the moment he came in the door, revealing a sour looking Ripster seated in the armchair. They stared at each other through the heavy layer of tension. Rip was radiating stern disappointment that Blades tried not to take to heart more than he had to. Too much guilt would be as suspicious as not enough of it, and for some reason it was a little harder to fit back into the role of Streex after that encounter in the tunnels.

Ripster seemed to be very determinedly biting his tongue, waiting for the tiger shark to make the first move, so he did, scuffing a foot against the carpet. Apparently he'd be keeping his promise to Lena after all. "Look bro, we need to talk."

"Really?" Cold and sarcastic. Ouch.

He really didn't want to make an enemy out of Ripster. His job would be hard enough without any extra scrutiny, and having one of his 'brothers' mad at him didn't sit right in ways the clone didn't really like to think about. Damn genetic programming. Apologizing for Streex's mistakes would be aggravating, but at least in Paradigm's employ he'd gotten some experience in how to bow and grovel when he really had to.

"I've been out of line," he said, eyes lowered. "I put myself at risk and I put you guys at risk and I don't really have any excuses for it. I'm sorry."

There was a brief moment of silence as Ripster digested that, and then, "So how long did you practice that one? You can't be that sorry if you've been out again already."

Blades couldn't resist flinching a little at the tone. When the Doctor got angry, it was loud and explosive. The sharp, understated ire was somehow much worse. The part of him that was Streex was starting to feel slighted, but snapping back wasn't going to help the situation. Blades took a deep breath, and tried to inject some humor into his voice. "Okay, I probably deserved that."

Ripster was refusing to make this easy. Streex must have really screwed up, and Blades was just a blind man fumbling in the dark trying to figure out exactly what had gone wrong. He wanted to pace; Streex liked movement to help clear his head._But I'm not him, am I?_ Blades thought, and determinedly stood still. So this wasn't like dealing with the Doctor, where a quick show of submissiveness would work, and he doubted Streex's instincts to get angry were on the right track either. Come to think of it, that had probably been part of the original problem.

"I needed to clear my head," Blades said, and before Ripster could bite out anything he added, "I wanted to work out that apology before I ran into you again so, yeah, I was out practicing it. Happy now?"

Ripster managed to hold on to his scowl for a few more seconds before it slowly smoothed out. Now he just looked tired. "This place is too small."

Blades hoped he wasn't supposed to know what that seemingly non-sequential comment meant. "Huh?"

"For the four of us," Ripster specified. "We're not used to living in each other's space anymore…not since Clint and I moved out. I know it sucks bro, but you really need to stop running off like that. I'm not trying to be Dad, but he would want us to stick together. This place can be a bit claustrophobic but we _need_ you here."

Must be nice to have a real place for yourself instead of just being the placeholder for someone else. Honestly, what the hell was Streex's problem anyway? He didn't appreciate what he had. He practically deserved to have it taken from him.

However, Blades couldn't afford to be confined, but he could at least temporize. "I promise I won't go out any more than I need to. Okay?" It wasn't a full answer, and Ripster knew it, but he seemed willing to compromise if it put the grudge behind them.

"Fine." He slung an arm around Blades's shoulders. "Now lets get some sleep already. I'm beat."

Blades was too, but he wouldn't be sleeping. Not with the invisible clock slowly ticking away the seconds of his life. Only two days to go.

* * *

So Street Sharks HQ was underneath Fission State University, and specifically the sports stadium. _How appropriate_, Blades mused, idly walking the circumference of the hockey rink. Mist was seeping from the ice but he barely felt the cold at all, the benefit of being a mutant. He didn't often stop to wonder what it must be like for the humans. His experience to was limited to Paradigm, and now Bends and Lena, and he didn't honestly consider himself one at all despite the major contribution in his genetic makeup.

Talking with Slammu had made that difference between them patently obvious. Interacting with the sharks more than he had to might be what Paradigm would consider an unnecessary risk, but Blades would argue that knowing the enemy would give a better chance of success in the end. Besides, he was curious, and Slammu had been awake and alone at four am when Blades had been getting restless and tetchy from the lack of sleep.

"On watch," Slam had explained, gesturing briefly to the monitors and display screens that Blades hadn't been able to get a very close look at yet. "Me and Rip are taking all the shifts until you guys get better."

There was a hint in his tone that said Blades probably should have known this, and so the Tiger Shark quickly changed the subject to something more harmless. Slam was a lot easier to talk to than Ripster, and with a bit of careful contrivance Blades had managed to lead it back to the topics he'd really wanted to know about.

As far as Paradigm was concerned, the Sharks were only interested in vengefully thwarting him at every turn. Turns out he was only partially right. From what Blades gathered, the sharks' main goals were finding their father, getting Paradigm exposed to the public, and getting human again, more or less in that order.

Three goals that Blades had absolutely no interest in, and he found that…disappointing.

Doctor Robert Bolton was an intriguingly mysterious figure, but not one that Blades felt any particular tie. Biologically, they were related, but the bond of blood meant diddly squat to Blades and it would probably mean even less to Bolton. After all, Blades was just a copy of one of Bolton's sons; he'd probably find the implications monstrous, which is exactly what Blades was.

And as much as he didn't like Paradigm, Blades didn't have any moral objections to what the man was doing. His dislike for his creator was just personal. Fission City wasn't his home any more than Shark Central was, and the humans were just a nameless, faceless mass to him. Lena was nice enough, but when Blades looked at her all he could see was the fragility. He was a creature of superior genetic advantage, and couldn't see why anyone would object to having that.

The rest of the sharks obviously didn't feel the same though. The undisguised yearning in Slammu's voice couldn't have been any clearer, but Blades just simply did not share the desire. What could humanity offer him? Normalcy? What was normal for a clone? Being stripped of his strength and his senses didn't appeal to him in the slightest, though he'd covered his real opinion with Streex's usual brand of vanity for his precious striped fin and Slammu hadn't noticed anything amiss. Streex had gotten used to being a shark. Blades had never been anything else, and you didn't miss what you'd never had.

The thoughts should never have crossed his mind, except the old man's words kept coming back to haunt him. Choice. If he had his choice, would he stay with the sharks who were genetically his 'family'?

"Thinkin' heavy thoughts there bro?"

Blades started a little, but Jab's voice was touched with humor and warmth. The hammerhead was leaning against the rail Blades had been following, close enough that the clone should have known he was there, but he was starting to realize the wariness he'd maintained around the Seaviants didn't seem to register the rest of the sharks as a threat. 'Family'. Huh.

Blades made a face at him. "You should try it sometime."

"Why? It doesn't seem to be doing you any favors."

Not at all, but at least it was keeping Blades awake and occupied. He'd need to make it through the day without any sign of trouble if he wanted to convince Ripster to let him take a watch shift that evening. He needed a long, undisturbed look at those computers so find their weaknesses for Paradigm. Just because he was speculating about staying didn't mean he couldn't keep his options open. That was what choice was all about, right?

"Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked finally.

"I got bored," Jab said, but with a stretch that seemed to suggest he hadn't been up long. He looked over the rink, and then back at Blades with a twisted smirk. "You up for a game? The outer doors are locked. No one'll see."

"Yeah, except Rip," Blades pointed out. "And then he'll come up and yell at us about not taking it easy."

"So? That'll be entertaining at least."

"I only just got back on his good side," Blades said with a groan. "Forget it."

It was true enough, but he also needed an excuse. Annoyingly, one of the few traits he hadn't inherited from Streex was the ability to balance on skates. It was probably a matter of practice, but Jab would definitely figure out there was something up if 'Streex' kept falling flat on his face.

"Aw, you're no fun." A soft beep caught Jab's attention, and he tilted his head. "You gonna get that?"

Blades scowled, glancing down at his phone. That was the sixth one that morning; just a simple message, 'Call back'. All from Paradigm's number, which he had absolutely no intention of answering. Most likely the Doctor had just found out that Streex wasn't where he was supposed to be, and Blades wasn't going to hand the location of his progenitor over until he was ready. If he wanted to cut a deal with Paradigm when this was all over, he needed more bargaining chips.

He looked back at Jab and shook his head with a smirk. "Pushy girlfriend," he offered by way of explanation. "Come on, let's get some food already."

The magical words of distraction for any mutant. Jab's eyes lit up. "Done deal."

* * *

Paradigm was a patient man. When needed, he'd allowed months, or sometimes years for plans to reach fruition, but in this case he'd expected his results to come in a quick and timely fashion. The silence from the clone had passed from mild irritation into vast annoyance.

Damn Boltons.

It couldn't last forever, not if the clone wanted to see next week, but Blades had obviously turned out to be just as obstinate as the rest of the brothers and waiting for his report was trying Paradigm's patience. Half the allotted time had past, and so far Paradigm had lost track of both Streex and his agent and had gained nothing for his troubles.

He could see what the clone was doing, of course. Trying to gain an upper hand in the game, trying to be a player instead of a pawn. Thinking above his station when by his very nature he was nothing more than a copy on the verge of expiring. Obviously he hadn't learned his lessons well enough. Once he returned, discipline would be swift and merciless, but until then Paradigm could only seethe. Better judgment cautioned him not to do anything rash, but his displeasure needed an outlet.

"Find him," he ordered the Seaviants. "Whatever it takes. Remind him who he owes his pitiful existence to."

If Blades wouldn't answer then he would just have to send the message another way, and with the issue laid to rest in his mind he could partake in another waiting game. His diagnostics didn't lie. His system had glitched, except that the design was another of his perfected creations and so it shouldn't have, which could only mean that the supposed error was merely a cover for something even less pleasing. His system had been hacked, and he could almost guarantee it wouldn't be the last time.

"Let's see you try that again," he dared the open air, staring intently at his computer screen as they ran every security scan in existence and a few he'd made up for the purpose of catching this intruder. If they tried to break back into his files, they'd encounter a nasty surprise.

* * *

The computer system wasn't nearly as complex as Blades had anticipated, or maybe the knowledge of such things Paradigm had infused into his brain was just better than average. Blades could probably deactivate the whole thing right now, given the inclination, but of course he didn't. Paradigm wasn't going to be happy to hear from him right now, even if he was offering the sharks on a proverbial silver platter.

No, the moment wasn't right. He needed more time, and he really should check on Streex again. Of course he was supposed to be on watch, but he'd already found a way around that. A brief twist of wiring and one of the camera readings went out. Humming innocently, he strolled back towards the workshop where light and sound radiated. Bends was the only other person still up, wrapped up in some project Blades couldn't even begin to figure out. He knocked politely against the wall. "Yo Bends! Could you keep an eye on the alarms for a bit? I think one of those big roaches is stuck on one of our cameras or something. I'm gonna go shoo it off."

Bends glanced up distractedly from the bench, his reaction automatic. "Sure thing dude." A second later he blinked, looking Blades over again with particular attention to the bruises and amended, "Uh, you gonna be okay or-?"

"I'll be fine," Blades assured him. "You keep at it."

Bends obviously didn't want to leave his pet project to go roach hunting, and was all too happy to agree. Of course he'd probably forget that he was supposed to be keeping watch in Blades's stead, but the clone had it on pretty good authority that the Seaviants wouldn't be sniffing around for at least another few days so it wasn't like anything would happen. What he really hoped for was that Bends would lose all track of time, and considering how quickly the human was reabsorbed by his work, it was a likely bet. He wouldn't notice if 'Streex' was gone for a while.

His path to the surface took back through a familiar set of tunnels, and involuntarily he slowed to a halt when he reached the same place he'd met the rag pile the day before. He paused, listening for that distinctive shuffling sound, but the only noise was the hiss of steam through the pipes. Not even a ghost of a presence here anymore. He was starting to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing, but the whole scenario had been ludicrous enough that it almost had to be real.

"A sign would be real good right now," he told the empty air, but nothing in the tunnels shifted except perhaps for a few of the roaches he was blaming the camera failure on. He sighed, mostly at himself. "Didn't think so."

* * *

It was a petty amusement to hear Streex squawk every time the lights came on with their unrelenting intensity. Blades savored it for a moment before swinging himself up into the back of the van, cradling his burden just carefully enough not to spill it.

"A bucket?" Streex eyed it distastefully as soon as his eyes adjusted again.

"That's how animals get fed," Blades said, dropping it outside the bars, splashing a little water. It was within Streex's reach if he chose to stretch. Blades didn't have time to taunt with food today, and if Streex became delirious from dehydration these little visits weren't going to be any fun.

Streex, however, didn't immediately reach out. Instead he seemed to be focusing inward. "You know, I thought of something."

Blades widened his eyes in exaggerated astonishment. "Really?"

"I only dated Lindsey for two weeks."

"…So what?" Blades said eventually, having pulled the name from his memory and gotten nothing that made sense of Streex's comment.

"So I remember when the media was doing interviews of everyone we used to know, she said it had been a month. She lied, or got mixed up, I don't know, but we were definitely only together for two weeks." Streex sidled up to the bars. "But when you reminded me about her you said it had been a month too."

"Slip of the tongue," Blades offered with a tilted smirk, but his ability to read Streex's body language wasn't one sided and he knew it wasn't going to work.

"I was wondering how Paradigm did it," Streex said. "You can't copy memories. Even he's not that good…but he must have really done his homework on me. TV interviews, school reports, home movies…hell, he must have hacked just about every database in town looking for any sign of me. Tiny bits of information that just keeps adding up, and in the end he got you."

"Well what do you know, looks like you didn't entirely miss out on the family smarts after all," Blades drawled, clapping mockingly.

Streex's grin was victorious. "So you're really not me. Not even slightly, and if I can pick the difference then eventually some one else will."

"Only if they do it quickly," Blades said, leaning back against the wall in a nonchalant attempt to pretend it was more comfortable than it was. He really could do with a nap but there wasn't the time for it. "One day left. Tick tock."

"You don't have to do this."

He'd expected more hissing and spitting and anger. Blades raised an eyebrow at Streex's soft tone. "If you're going to talk to me about choices I've had that speech already."

Streex's eyes flashed, but he kept his voice low and even. "You haven't hurt anyone yet, right?"

"You're the one who's been locked in a cage for two days. You tell me," Blades challenged.

"As long as everyone else is okay I won't hold it against you."

Streex wasn't supposed to be able to surprise him. They were the same, after all, but Blades had been pretty sure he'd done all the right things to make himself unforgivable and yet Streex seemed sincere. Being stuck in a small, dark cage alone for that long would have been hard on anyone, much less a freedom-loving attention seeker. He scrutinized Streex closely and took a page out of Ripster's book. "So how long did you practice that one?"

"I've had a lot of time to think in here," Streex pointed out. "If Paradigm made you, you owe him, and you're only doing this because of his orders. I mean, what else could you do, right?"

"Wrong," Blades sneered. "I don't owe Paradigm anything."

"You don't believe that," Streex said.

Blades hated being transparent, and hated the cause. He'd made every attempt to bottle that rage, appeasing it with small cruelties and slights, but it had been right there with him for every day of his life and somehow Streex had found it. "What the hell do I have to thank him for? A body that belongs to someone else? Fake memories? A lifespan that's just long enough to be useful to him before he gets bored with me? Exactly what part of this should I be grateful for?"

"You're alive aren't you?"

"And intending to stay that way," Blades snapped, standing up. "Which is far more appealing than anything your or your brothers have to offer."

"But didn't you just say you're only gonna live until he gets bored with you?" Streex pressed. "How long do you think that's going to take, a few months? Maybe a year?"

Blades didn't respond.

"You're screwed," Streex told him concisely, but with sympathy. "He's screwed you just like he screwed us."

"I don't need your pity," Blades told him icily, turning to leave.

"Ask yourself if it's worth it," Streex called. Blades imagined he head triumph in the other shark's voice and furiously slammed the doors of the truck behind him as though the noise could somehow banish his doubts.

"I'm not dead yet," he muttered to himself, glancing instinctively at his watch. One day left.

* * *

This time when he went back through the tunnel, it wasn't empty. He only wished it was.

"Slash," Blades greeted warily. There was a shift from behind him. "And Slobster. Well isn't this my lucky day."

"Not anymore it isn't Shark," Slash hissed. "You have some explaining to do."

"Well you've picked a really bad time," Blades ground out, trying to convey in a fearsome look, _you're going to blow my cover you idiot._ They weren't close to the Shark's Headquaters, but they weren't exactly far from it either. Not far enough that a misspoken word and an untimely appearance from one of his 'brothers' was too possible for his liking, and that would ruin everything. Paradigm must have been pretty pissed at him. "Can't you come back tomorrow or something?"

_Take the hint morons_. But he was, of course, forgetting who he was talking to. Anything less than a two-by-four to the face wouldn't penetrate Slobster's skull, and Slash didn't look like he cared to listen. Blades looked heavenward and groaned softly.

"Okay. You two want a piece of me? You got it." He squared his shoulders, raised his fists…and took off running, pushing Slash out of the way and calling over his shoulder, "If you can catch me!"

No, he was not running. Just a strategic retreat, because fighting the Seaviants was a pointless waste of the precious time he had left, although he did owe Slash a beating for being kicked while he was down. He was half tempted to turn around and deliver it, but the tunnels weren't the best place to pick a fight. He'd save it for later, assuming he had a choice about it.

The best course of action would be to lose the Seaviants in the tunnels…an easy task for the real Streex but Blades had no idea where he was going and it took him less than a minute to hit a dead end. He glared at it in frustration. "God damn it."

He backtracked quickly, hoping to make it to the side tunnel he'd spotted only to find the two Seaviants guarding it with dark expressions of glee on their faces. He hissed angrily through his teeth and warned, "You two are making a big mistake."

"You're coming with us, shark," Slobster informed him, clacking his claws ominously.

"Uh, excuse me, but I think you two are a bit lost."

Blades couldn't have been happier to hear Jab's voice right then. The hammerhead was further back in the tunnel, behind the Seaviants, with Slammu's comfortingly protective presence at his side.

"Unless of course you're looking to get your asses kicked," Jab continued. "In which case we'll be happy to do that for you."

The two Seaviants glanced at the clone, perhaps wondering who he'd choose to side with. As though it wasn't obvious. Blades smirked wickedly and swiped his claws at them. "I told you guys you were making a mistake. I'd suggest running."

Slash growled at him, but the odds were against him and perhaps the veiled order in Blades's words finally got through. He grabbed Slobster and dragged the other Seaviant down the side tunnel, disappearing with an echo of curses and heavy footsteps.

Blades breathed a sigh of relief. "Man. Good timing guys."

"Bends sent us to check on you," Slammu said. "He thought you might have run into a little trouble."

"Copy that," Blades said, peering down the tunnel where the Seaviants had disappeared. "I kind of took a wrong turn."

"Moron." Jab punched his shoulder just a little too hard. "Looks like you owe us one."

Blades stared at him for a long moment. "I guess I do."

* * *

He'd wasted his day with thinking. Amazing how quickly time could slip by when you were too distracted to keep track of it, but despite the effort he didn't feel like it had gotten him anywhere except closer to his deadline.

Even after sitting in the tunnel for three hours, Blades still wasn't quite sure what he would say if his mystery benefactor did decide to appear, but it was starting to look like it wouldn't matter. Three hours and no show. If the old man wanted to find him, Blades was making it damn easy, which probably meant he wasn't coming. Had he changed his mind? Hadn't found what he'd needed to help Blades? Or had it all just been a cruel joke. Ha ha, very funny. He felt sick, but that was probably because the serum Paradigm had given him to stall the effects of his flawed biology were starting to wear off.

He'd never actually delayed the dosage this long before, and already it was unpleasant. A faint nausea that wouldn't leave, and had been enough to put him off food despite the usually voracious mutant appetite. The weariness he felt could have been just the lack of sleep, but the leaden feeling in his limbs probably wasn't.

_Damn, damn, damn_. Blades couldn't put it off any longer. He had to go see Paradigm before it got any worse, and his second option was apparently defunct. Guess there had never been a real choice after all.

He got up and stretched, wasting a few more moments to pace and get the stiffness out of his muscles just in case, but it was a pointless effort. _Stop waiting and leave_, he berated the impulse that tried to keep him there and forced himself to do exactly that. The first steps were the hardest, and he hoped that once he was out of the tunnels it would get easier, because at that point there was no turning back.

He nearly walked right past Ripster, who had been waiting in silence and stillness not too far from the exit Blades intended to use. "I thought you weren't going to leave again."

Blades paused. "Only when I have to, remember?" He offered a weak grin, but the tension in his stance wasn't guilt over the promise. All bets were off. If he had to fight his way out, he would. "This is one of those times, bro."

He'd almost prefer if it came to a fight. If he had to take Ripster down, then he could guiltlessly tell Paradigm that his cover had been broken and there was nothing to be done. He wouldn't have to decide if the Sharks should have a warning or not. Things had been so much easier when there was only one path.

"Okay."

Blades couldn't read Ripster's expression. Resigned? Or something else. "You're letting me go?" he asked with some surprise.

Ripster shrugged. "It's your choice."

Maybe Ripster was a mind reader too, though if that were the case Blades would have been screwed long before this. Why the hell did he have to say that? Unable to think of a reply, Blades kept walking.

Ripster's voice echoed a little in the tunnels. "We'll be here when you come back."

Blades wished they wouldn't be. When he came back, it would probably be with the other Seaviants for the sole purpose of taking the sharks down. They'd never see it coming…not unless Blades said something now. A clue, a hint, anything!

Blades raised his hand in parting, not looking back. "Later."

* * *

The instructions were simple enough. Come to the old warehouse, come alone, and if I catch so much as a sniff of any Seaviant lurking around then there will be no deal. Paradigm was a smart man, and had probably realized that Blades was stubborn and desperate enough to have them both lose everything if he felt like he was losing control of the situation. Besides, the Doctor was arrogant enough to believe he wouldn't need the protection against one of his own creations. He'd come.

But he was taking his sweet time about it, probably on purpose. The closer it got to Blades's time limit, the more willing he'd be to compromise, or so Paradigm would think. Every passing minute had his stomach doing flip flops, nervousness or nausea, take your pick.

He felt ready though, like the hazy fog of indecision had finally lifted. He was nearly starting to feel positive until Paradigm finally arrived, decked out in full battle armor. Not a good sign for the Doctor's mood.

"Is that really necessary?" he asked plaintively.

"It will be," Paradigm said. At least his face was still normal; if he'd turned piranha then Blades wouldn't have a chance. "For your punishment."

"I've done everything you told me to," Blades protested, arms spread wide and expression as earnest as it could be around a smirk.

The Doctor glared flatly. "Where's Streex?"

"I still have him," Blades assured. "And all the information you need to take down the sharks, plus a few other interesting tidbits." He took a gamble. "Like information on the person who's been hacking your system."

True, he didn't know much, but the naked interest on Paradigm's face clearly said he'd guessed right on that score. He wondered how the man would look when he was told about Lena.

"I was starting to think that perhaps you'd had second thoughts about your mission," Paradigm said, relaxing ever so slightly. "Changing sides would not end well for you."

"The only side I've ever been on is mine," the clone informed him. "And that's why my information comes with a price."

Paradigm's face darkened again. "I see."

Blades shrugged. "I don't like living only three days at a time. I want the cure for whatever you did to me, not just the stalling measure. Give me that, and I'll tell you everything I know. Believe me, it's more than enough for you to finish things with the sharks, and you won't ever have to see me again. I'm not going to get in your way."

He could see Paradigm thinking quickly. "You must have been planning this right from the start. Quite impressive, considering you're not even a month old."

"Thank you," Blades grinned. "But stop stalling."

"No time to waste, hm?" Paradigm said, and Blades didn't like the look of his answering smirk. "But unfortunately one factor you didn't take into consideration in your plan, and to put it simply…there is no cure."

Blades tried to cover his faltering, but sudden uncertainty invaded his voice. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Paradigm returned smugly. "To fix the problem I'd have to completely remake you from cells again. Even with my genius, an alternative solution would take years to produce, assuming I had the time and inclination to dedicate to the task, which I don't, particularly with your recent streak of bad behavior."

Chided like a child, but Blades was too absorbed in Paradigm's revelation…there was no cure. How could there be no cure? The man _created_ him, surely-!

Another of life's cruel jokes. Ha ha, still not funny. He had miscalculated. He'd assumed that Paradigm would know how to fix him, and that he could be free of the man's authority. He didn't want to _live_ like this…

"Now I want you to ask yourself if this petty act of insubordination was really worth it?"

_Ask yourself if it's worth it._

"All this trouble and you've gained nothing. You forget that everything you have, I gave you. You owe me-"

_Looks like you owe us one._

"-And you'll repay every inch of that debt before I'm through with you. Your only choice-"

_It's your choice._

"-is to tell me everything you've learned, and maybe I'll decide it's worth keeping you around. Who knows, maybe if you work hard enough to absolve yourself, on day we can talk about a cure for your condition."

Blades wouldn't last long enough for 'one day'. He'd been made a prideful creature, and he wouldn't be able to swallow it often enough to satisfy Paradigm, nor did he want to, but there was no other option. It was a tenuous life in servitude, or nothing.

Or nothing. So, really, Blades did still have a choice. It almost made him laugh He'd thought there wouldn't be anything worse than 'nothing', but now he wasn't so sure. The idea was strangely liberating. He could still choose.

"Actually, that really doesn't sound like a nice choice," Blades said, and arrogantly turned his back on his creator. "So you can forget it. I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Paradigm repeated, laughing incredulously. "To go where? You don't have more than a few hours left."

"Well I'd better start making the most of them then, shouldn't I?" Blades said. "Fitting all the fun of a lifetime into a few hours, sounds like a good challenge to me. You can go make yourself another clone, but I think you'll find the same trick won't work twice."

For anyone else, Blades was pretty sure he would have managed to walk away before the dumbfound shock wore off, but Paradigm was a genius after all. He recovered quickly. "I'm afraid that's not an option."

He only saw the shadow of Paradigm's lunge. Despite the bulky looking armor and the fact that he was only human, Paradigm was _fast._ Blades barely had time to catch the man's wrists before they reached him. The first was armed with a deadly looking serrated hook. The second was holding an injector gun.

"You're coming back with me whether you like it or not," Paradigm hissed, pressing forward with unnatural strength. "Your last hours can be easy or painful but you will tell me what I need to know."

Paradigm was winning. He had better leverage, better footing, and Blades's strength was failing him already. It took more effort than it should have just to hold his ground, and for a second he considered just letting go. It was really hard to pretend anything mattered after resigning yourself to death…Until he remembered that he hated this asshole, and if he was going to spend his final hours on anything, why not vengeance?

Blades hadn't had much time to explore his full range of emotions. While he hadn't enjoyed the mindless rage Streex had managed to bring out, he thought he might like hatred a lot more. It ran just as deep but felt much steadier, and it loaned him the unexpected strength to pry the injector out of Paradigm's hand and shove the man to the floor. He stopped himself before thoughtlessly crushing the fragile device.

"You know, I think I'd be doing the world a favor if I got rid of you," Blades mused, twirling the injector theatrically around his finger. "Looks like my life won't be totally wasted…"

Paradigm took one look at the expression on Blades's face, and fumbled hastily for the radio at his wrist. "Seaviants, to me!"

They probably wouldn't be too far away. Blades could stay and attempt to fight them off. He might even be able to take down one or two of them if he gave it his all. Going out in a blaze of glory, an unsung warrior with a heroic death…

…Sounded like it would kind of suck actually. Being heroic was overrated.

"Better watch yourself Paradigm," he sneered. "I'll be behind you when you least expect it."

More strategic retreating, which would be far more appropriate if he actually had a strategy. He didn't know exactly how much time he'd have left, but there was at least one more thing he needed to take care of.

* * *

Streex was silent for the first minute after the clone stumbled in, but finally he managed, "Wow. You look like hell."

Blades laughed, a sound as brittle as broken glass. "So do you."

The perfect pair they were. Three days in a cell hadn't done Streex any favors. He was looking decidedly lean and hungry, with bags under his eyes that suggested sleeping the cold, hard bunk in the corner didn't agree with him much. Blades couldn't imagine what he looked like himself, with old bruises and his own exhaustion which probably showed even more obviously, plus the most recent development of small muscle twitches that he couldn't suppress or control.

Though at least he wasn't the one in the cage.

"I'm guessing things didn't go so well between you and Paradigm," Streex said after a long, uneasy pause. "I can smell him on you. You didn't give us up, did you?"

"I really should have." Blades tapped his claws against the floor, staring just over Streex's shoulder. "You idiots are dumb enough to deserve it."

"Just who do you think you're fooling here?" Streex shuffled up to the bars and shared his wide smile of relief. "You didn't want to, did you? I bet they grew on you while you were pretending to be me. I mean, that was practically guaranteed."

"Don't get your hopes up," Blades grumbled, trying not to think about the unintentional kindnesses. Jab's playful banter, Slam's easy grin, Bends' concern, Lena's warmth, and even Ripster's stern care. It wasn't like he'd either wanted or needed any of those things. He leaned back against the wall, taking a much needed moment of rest

"Hey…do you have a name?"

He cracked an eye open.

"Because thinking of you as 'that jerk' is getting old," Streex added.

He wasn't sure how he felt laying claim to yet another thing that Paradigm had given him, but it didn't matter much anymore. "It's Blades."

Streex stared at him. Blades smirked weakly. "The Doctor has a sense of humor."

"It sucks," Streex pronounced, making a face and thinking it over. "So Blades…what now?"

"You know, I've been asking myself that all day."

Blades had been acting so lethargic, Streex obviously hadn't anticipated he could still move quickly. Blades had pulled himself back out of reach before Streex even registered the pinch on his arm. "Ow! Hey!"

Blades tossed the now empty injector on the floor. "Since I'm officially my own agent, I can do whatever I want, and my first order of business is to do something about you."

"You-!" Streex only managed to get halfway to his feet before the sedative struck, and his expression of shock melted away into unconsciousness. He hit the ground with a thump.

Blades nudged him tentatively and got no response. Finding a drug that worked so quickly and completely on a mutant wouldn't have been easy. The Doctor's genius was well credited.

"And now what?" he asked the unconscious shark rhetorically, examining his claws speculatively in the clinical light.

* * *

Paradigm was destroying his Lab. 

At least that's what it sounded like to the Seaviants, who were once again bunkered outside the doors wondering if any of them dared cross that threshold. The near-palatable cloud of fury in the air was an even better deterrent than the noisy sounds of destruction, and despite the instinctive urge to appease their creator, none of them would dare. Not until the piranha was sated and the man was back to normal, at least.

"Sharks are bad luck," Slash declared, arms crossed to help hide the way he flinched every time broke in the Lab. "The Doctor should quit trying to take them back."

"Maybe he will," Killamari offered. "When he calms down a bit."

A high pitched shriek of fury had them all looking warily towards the doors, but nothing emerged, and for a time there was silence. None of them relaxed.

"What do you think'll happen to the clone?" Killamari asked.

"He's dead," Slash said flatly.

"Or he will be when we find him," Slobster muttered.

"I don't think we should leave while the Doctor's…distracted," said Killamari. True, they didn't have any specific orders to either stay or go, but he didn't want to inadvertently cross their creator when the man was feeling particularly vengeful.

Slash grunted. "We don't need to anyway. The Doctor said he won't last until sunrise. We won't even have to lift a finger."

There was a shift of heavy movement in the Lab, and something that crunched like plastic and glass shattered. The cycle began afresh. Killamari sighed. "At least we'll be able to get back to work. All this standing around is making me twitchy."

"Since when do you do anything like work?" Slash muttered on reflex.

"What was that, drill nose?"

Slash glared at him, but as much as he felt like reestablishing the pecking order, Killamari still had the upper hand and the Doctor wasn't around to referee. Slash may have been his current favorite, but by next week Paradigm would forget, as he did with all his other failures, and Slash's hard work would be forgotten with it. He hissed in frustration. "Nothing."

He'd simply have to wait for a better opportunity.

* * *

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." 

Staggering unsteadily over treacherous ground was made even more dangerous by the limp weight slung over Blades's shoulder. It was an uphill battle, though wether the street was actually on a slope or if the clone's perception was just skewed was up for debate. Every loose stone and crumbling step threatened to send both of them skittering painfully across the ground, but Blades had a goal in mind and he would not be swayed. And in the untimely event of an accident he had Streex's body to cushion his fall anyway.

"Stupid," he reiterated. "Both of us. But mostly you."

Streex didn't make any kind of response and if Paradigm's little injection was doing it's job properly then there was no risk of that changing any time soon, which left Blades free to speak his mind.

"Note to self, must remember not to take advice from crazy, faceless old men about making 'choices'. It will never end well. But then we were never very good at listening to reason, were we?"

He shifted Streex weight slightly, grunting with the strain. "No way was I cloned from a whale fish like you. Lay of the junk food already tubby, you'll make both of us look bad. Not that you _could_ put much of a dent in this perfection but..."

He vaguely wondered if babbling was a habit of Bobby's or something he'd managed to pick up on his own, but it was nice to have an audience even if they probably couldn't hear a word he was saying. Not that he'd had any lack of people to talk to this week (or talk at, most of the time. The Shark brothers had the remarkable ability to tune out his Streex-isms, which was as useful as it was irritating), but never about his own thoughts. He'd played the role so thoroughly it was hard to tell how much of what he did was his own and how much was due to the imprint of Bobby Bolton in his memories.

"It would have been easier to kill you," Blades remarked airily. "Then there'd be no comparison." And he'd been tempted. Every step he took reminded him of how much easier it would be just to kill Streex now and dump the body here than go to all the effort of carrying him back to safe territory. The though alone was enough to make his mouth water at the prospect of blood, and the mere fact that it was _Streex_, the benchmark of his existence, set a violent tremor of eagerness down his spine. But that was easy, and Streex could never resist the easy path which was exactly why Blades would. That was the point of this futility after all. Choices.

Was his vision getting blurry? He would of preferred to blame it on simple tiredness except that he wasn't supposed to have that weakness either. But going back wasn't an option at this point and sheer obstinace was enough to keep him from stopping. This was almost over. All he had to do was find a place to hide Streex until his brothers could come find him, and then...what? Go find some soft ground to dig his own grave in before the inevitable caught up? The thought disgusted him. Blades did not give up, but having essentially signed his own death warrant when he'd left Paradigm didn't leave him with any options beyond a slow, painful death.

The only thing he had of his own was this choice, and death was something he could face with pride because for the first time _he was his own person_. And no one, not Streex, not Paradigm, could take that from him now.

"Hey!"

Though evidently someone had a mind to interrupt his very simple plan of action. He glanced slowly behind him, because moving any quicker would have unbalanced him and also because he recognized that voice and wasn't expecting any immediate attack. The vision of two purple striped tiger sharks should slow Ripster down a bit.

From his dumbfounded expression, it obviously had. Blades raised an eyebrow with equally exaggerated slowness. "You're a long way from home, bro."

"I followed you," Ripster told him, still staring between the two as though waiting for one of them to fade out of existence. "I wanted to find out what was so important."

"Ah." He probably should have anticipated that. The Streex-like impulse was to mockingly applaud but they were past that point now weren't they? He dropped Streex…literally, and hoped the moron felt it when he woke up. "Nothing more important than family, right? You can have him. Don't know why you'd want to though."

He felt a brief pang when Ripster rushed immediately to his real brother's side. You couldn't buy that kind of affection, though he'd stolen it for a time. No more.

"You're all idiots anyway," he muttered, turning his back. He wasn't needed here anymore.

"Wait."

He didn't want to stop, but in spite of his best efforts there was no knighting the instinct to obey his older brother's orders. He paused in mid-step.

Ripster looked like he had a million questions to ask, but impressively managed to narrow his selection to one. "Where are you going?"

What an unpleasantly loaded question. Where _could _he go?

No, he was thinking about this the wrong way. The real question was, where _couldn't_ he go? He didn't have anything to lose at this point, so he could take a walk down main street, or maybe see if Cindy would take a few hours off work to comfort a terminal Shark. The possibilities were endless really.

"Somewhere you can't follow," he said eventually. It was truthful, ironic and obscure, and the look of utter confusion on Ripster's face was well worth it. Blades didn't have many memories to cherish. That expression, and Paradigm's face turning as purple as his false stripes were quickly becoming his two favorites. "But you can tell the egotist there not to worry. You won't be seeing me again. This town isn't ready to handle two of him."

Blades forced himself to leave before Ripster could think of a reply, because otherwise he'd have been tempted to stay. There might have been some comfort in that, being surrounded by the people who were, for all intents and purposes, his friends and family as the end drew near…but he wasn't theirs, and there was enough in his life that had been fake. He'd chosen his own path and there was nothing to do but stick with it, even if it meant dying alone.

* * *

Someone was prying his eyelids open. Streex growled in petty defiance, and tried to push whoever it was off, but it didn't seem like his hands encountered anything. Either he was too numb to feel it, or he hadn't actually succeeded in lifting them. Considering how they felt like ten ton weights, the latter was entirely possible. 

"Come on Streex." Now he was being shaken too. It as unpleasantly disorienting on top of the way the ground was already jumping around. "Wake up."

Ripster was always telling him to do things he didn't want to. So unfair. But his brother was being damn insistent about it so Streex decided that maybe he could force himself to rouse just long enough to tell Rip to leave him alone. Then he remembered that no, god, no, he really didn't want to be alone any more and there was the insistent notion that at some point while sitting in the dark, he'd promised to sell his soul for a chance to see any of his brothers again. Shortly thereafter his last memory came back, of Blades's evil, bloodthirsty leer, and he jerked unsteadily awake.

"Where's that two-faced bitch of a clone?" he slurred unevenly, looking around without really being able to see. "I'm gonna tear his fin off."

"Hey Streex, it's okay."

His head was grabbed and turned, and he fought it until he realized who he was looking at. His struggles melted into disbelief. "Rip?"

Ripster's grin looked a little wane, but relieved. "Yeah. You back with us?"

Streex didn't usually dig the whole family affection thing – he was too old to hug his brothers in public any more, but he did so right now and he didn't care who saw it. He might have been speaking too; he could pick out the frantic tone of his own voice but didn't have a damn clue what was coming out of his mouth. Three days of useless, pent-up worry, most likely.

Eventually he had to stop for breath, and without his own noise he could hear Ripster talking as well, quiet and soothing, and it didn't matter what he was saying either. He was _there_, and something in Streex finally eased. He could easily spend the next couple of hours being lulled by that voice, and the comforting hand rubbing his back, but the inconvenient prodding of memory reminded him that there was something he really needed to get off his chest, and he wasn't sure if Ripster would have heard it amongst the stream of babble even though he'd probably said it more than once.

"Rip," he said desperately. "Bro, I'm really sorry about what I said to you. I didn't mean it, I was just pissed, and it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry."

He'd spent a long time composing a really long and eloquent apology, but damned if he could remember it now. Sincerity and desperation would have to do.

Ripster, however, just blinked without comprehension. "What?"

"You know, in the tunnel." It wasn't that long ago, and it had been the heaviest thing on Streex's mind while he'd been locked in that cage. Who'd have thought he wouldn't ever get the chance to apologize for a screw up like that.

"…Oh." Rip grimaced and shrugged. "I forgot. It doesn't matter now anyway."

"You…forgot?" Streex gaped, and then aimed a punch at his brother's shoulder which missed by a mile. "You _jerk!_ That's all I've been stewing on for the last three days and you don't even remember?"

"Hey, calm down," Ripster grinned, grabbing Streex's flailing wrists and ignoring the muttered curses. "It's forgiven and forgotten, okay."

"Well I'm not forgetting it. Jeeze." But his ire faded and Streex stilled…and the took his wrists back and wrapped them around his midsection as though in sudden pain. "Oh man."

"What?" Ripster asked in alarm.

"I am absolutely starving. You wouldn't not believe it." Streex moaned long-sufferingly. "I need food, right now. Anything. Pull the tire off that car over there for me because, seriously, I'll eat it."

Ripster laughed, tension draining. "We can probably do better than that. Come on, let's get you home."

"Please," Streex agreed, remarkably subdued, and letting Ripster cradle him more than was strictly necessary.

* * *

Blades had never stopped to watch a sunrise. It would be his first, and his last. Very poetic that. He was pretty sure he shouldn't have lasted this long. His deadline had been up a few hours ago, but for some reason his heart was doggedly still beating. He felt like shit though. Couldn't walk anymore, could barely move, so he'd simply picked a nice spot to sit and wait.

Pity Fission City's pollution problem had colored the rosy pink sky with a faint hint of brown. Oh well. Couldn't have everything. At least he had a few pitifully squawking birds and the distant sounds of honking cars for company. It was a nice, mundane symphony of sound, and would have been relaxing except for the disruptive beat of heavy, labored footsteps coming closer. Turning his head was almost too much effort, but he managed, expect to see one of the unfortunate victims of his fun spree. Some people just couldn't take a joke. Well if they wanted their shot at him, they could have it.

But it wasn't.

"Well if it isn't my favorite pile of rags." Already his voice sounded rusty, like machinery left too long unused. "I was wondering about you…you're a bit late to the party." He looked harder, at the odd shiny footprints the thing was leaving, and observed, "You're getting slime on my roof."

The rags seemed to be huffing. Well Blades had chosen a pretty tall building to sit on. He hadn't liked all those stairs much either, but the view had been worth it.

"It took me a while to track you down," the old man grumbled. In the budding daylight he looked even more distorted. Not human. Blades might have been interested before but he couldn't dredge up the enthusiasm for anything.

"Yeah, well, I was busy. Night on the town. Was pretty good." His vocabulary was stunted too. Thinking was hard. Blades frowned. "Didn't think you were coming."

Was that sadness? Disappointment? The rag pile came closer, taking Blades's arm between its own thick but surprisingly agile finger. For an odd moment he thought maybe the thing was offering its sympathy, but the way it probed at his elbow was more clinical.

"Hey, I've composed my famous last words," Blades announced with an expression that tried to be a smile but was too exhausted. "Wanna hear them?"

"No," the rags grunted, pulling something from beneath its many layers. "You won't need them."

The last thing he felt was the pinch of a needle in his arm.

* * *

The may be an epilogue out in a couple of days. Thanks for reading this far:) Remember, comments are always appreciated. 


	5. Epilogue

**Blades: Epilogue  
**

* * *

Something so stupidly coincidently just had to be fate…except Blades didn't really believe in fate so he was left with the unpleasant assumption that life just had a really nasty sense of humor. The fact that he was alive even one day past his expiration date he was thankful for, even if he hadn't said as much to his rescuer. 

Robert Bolton. His 'father', in the most genetically literal sense. It was bizarrely ironic, and Blades wasn't entirely sure how to feel about the whole thing so he simply chose to ignore the complications and focus on the reality.

Bolton lived in squalor. The tiny, tunnel-like home he'd dug himself was cramped with furniture that practically fell apart under the weight of a stern gaze. Food wrappings were piled up all over the place, merely shoved to one side rather than properly cleared away by the man who obviously didn't care much about his eating habits, and there was a thin layer of slime on most things…except the books and the computer. These were perfectly preserved; Bolton wore gloves while handling them. Everything else looked salvaged from dumps, but Blades wasn't about to complain. He could be dead. The wet smell of decay was positively beautiful by comparison.

He did not, however, appreciate being ignored. The most he'd gotten was a cursory checkup to ensure he was as healthy as a clone with a genetic flaw could be. After that Bolton had shuffled into his rickety chair and had been typing away like a man possessed, as though racing some unseen time limit. Maybe he was – Blades wasn't about to ask – but it seemed like Bolton wasn't going to cease any time soon, and despite his near brush with death, Blades was bored.

"So," he began conversationally, careful to keep his irritation out of his voice. "Now that you have me, what do you want me to do for you?"

Bolton started a little. Blades wondered how long Bolton had been down here alone, but without enough real interest to actually check the dates programmed into his memories and find out.

"Pardon?" Bolton asked, swiveling in his chair which creaked ominously.

"Your orders," Blades clarified. "What do you want me to do?"

Bolton glanced at him for a moment longer before returning his attention to his typing. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Bolton confirmed, not even bothering to look up.

Blades pondered this for a moment. "Nothing now, I suppose, but what about later?"

"I told you. Nothing."

Blades stared incredulously at Bolton's back for a moment. Bolton had saved him, knew the clone was dependent on him, and didn't want him to do anything it return? Yeah right. He probably just hadn't made up his mind yet.

Still, Blades wasn't in any position to argue the point, so he simply nodded in acquiescence. "That fine, but what am I supposed to do? I can't just sit around here all day."

Bolton pointed off to his right. "There's the door. You can go explore the tunnels."

Blades' eyes narrowed. So Bolton was playing with him. "Right. And when the drug runs out I'll just curl up in a corner and die, will I? No thanks."

Looking up from his work once more, the scientist favored him with a weary look. "As long as you're back by tomorrow morning I don't see that you'll have any problem."

Blades glanced between Bolton and the door. "So, you're saying I can go out on my own?"

"Yes."

"With no restrictions?"

Bolton smiled wryly. "Well I'd prefer you didn't go on another spree of recklessness, but essentially yes."

"And when I came back you'd give me the dosage?"

"Yes."

"…What's the catch?"

Bolton sighed in exasperation. "There is no catch. I told you, I don't want anything from you."

"Then why did you save me? There must have been some reason."

Bolton didn't answer, and after a moment of searching the scientist's face Blades smirked twistedly. "A misplaced sense of family loyalty, perhaps? I hate to disappoint you, but blood doesn't mean anything."

It wasn't a smart idea, antagonizing Bolton, but Blades couldn't quite help himself. His bitterness ran deep. Maybe his position in life hadn't changed so much. Paradigm had wanted a loyal servant, a part that Blades could never play, and now here was Bolton, looking for another son…

Bolton's misshapen face darkened, and Blades began calculating the fastest route to the door, but the scientist only pinned him with a searching, unreadable look. "I just don't like to see life wasted, even if it's life Paradigm created.

"It's true he made you, and the fact that he used my own son's DNA might have something to do with my interest with you, but I would have helped you anyway. Paradigm may think he's broken me by giving me this body, but as long as I have breath I'll dedicate myself to undoing the evil he inflicts on the world, and giving second chances to those like you who shouldn't have been created in the first place."

Bolton's harsh breathing was the only noise in the poignant silence. After a moment he looked down, seeming to realize the implication of his last statement. "I don't mean to say-"

"That I shouldn't exist?" Blades asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why not? It's true."

"You have a right to live, and to make your own choices," Bolton insisted, scowling. "I intend to make sure you can. My fight with Paradigm keeps me here, but that doesn't have to involve you. You're free to do as you like."

Just what he'd always wanted, and it should have made him exultant, except that he'd begun to realize that being his own master was…daunting. Shoes too big for him to fill himself, with only a few weeks of life behind him and very little idea of who he was once the mask of Streex had been torn away.

He couldn't quite believe he was saying this. "Well then I'm _choosing_ to be involved." Blades shrugged. "I owe Paradigm one anyway. If you're trying to screw him over then I want in."

"You…shouldn't be making any big decisions yet," Bolton said hastily. "The world's got more to offer you than this room. Go out. Take some time to think about it."

More like an order than a suggestion. He seemed to think Blades would change his mind after tasting fresh air. Blades decided to humor him. "Fine. But when I get back you're going to tell me about your master plan for getting rid of Paradigm, right?"

Bolton mumbled something that might have been an affirmative, turning back to his typing without much enthusiasm. Well, it was a start. Having life was all good, but Blades had found it unexpectedly empty without either a place or a purpose. Since Bolton had opened himself up with that unprecedented act of kindness, Blades was going to take the man for everything he could offer…and that lingering sense of gratitude had nothing to do with it.

* * *

And _now_ I think I can officially call this story finished. Mind you it's only a springboard for various other projects, so there's always more story to tell. Comments and constructive criticisms are always appreciated! It's what gives me the strength to actually battle this site's stupid system to put these fics up, yes it does. _::sigh::_


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